


Wake the Dragon

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: Iterum Rex [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Character Tags To Be Added - Freeform, Draco Malfoy is King Arthur, Draco is like a prickly hedgehog, Harry Potter is Merlin, Horcruxes, Just to be clear so nobody gets confused, M/M, Merlin is irritating and sometimes cryptic, NOT A 'MERLIN' CROSSOVER OKAY, References to Arthurian Mythology, Reincarnation, Ron was not a good friend in the 4th Harry Potter book and this fic reflects that, Sirius has issues, The Triwizard Tournament, Yet Another Reincarnation AU, Yule Ball, although that may change - who knows, because they're so much fun, but it's a bit of a mashup, but it's finally finished!, possibly a Draco Malfoy Redemption AU, this fic keeps getting longer and longer than I originally planned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-04-23 16:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14336961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: Draco Malfoy wakes up with all the memories of King Arthur Pendragon. It gets worse - because he's not the only one along for the ride.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to anyone sick of Reincarnation AUs, but I had to. Also, this only uses the books as canon, and loosely at that. Don't go expecting Pottermore info to be used here, or anything.
> 
> Also, if you didn't see the tags, this is NOT a Merlin crossover! I don't want anyone getting disappointed because it's not their fandom, after all... That said, hopefully everyone will enjoy this fic.

** Wake the Dragon **

** Chapter One **

Draco woke up with a raging headache, and the knowledge that he was King Arthur, impossible though it seemed.

Consciousness had returned slowly; the last thing Draco remembered was walking back to the dorm room he shared with Blaise, where he’d been struck with a headache that was literally blinding. A moment later, Draco had mercifully passed out.

Draco opened his eyes, making sure that he was alone before he dared give expression to any of the myriad sentiments running through his head – chief amongst which was deep dissatisfaction with how he’d turned out in this life. He was Arthur and Arthur was him – but with the sudden addition of a different perspective, Draco’s mind was in a whirl.

“Oh, fuck _me_ ,” said Draco with a groan, because _look at him_ , he was a _Slytherin_ , not some kind of heroic Gryffindor idealist ready to play nice with a bunch of mudbloods. He was Draco Malfoy – he didn’t play nice with _anyone_ much.

But the word _mudblood_ sat uneasily with him now, even in his head, and…

_ Just because you’re not an idealist doesn’t mean that you can’t have ideas about how the world ought to be _ , said the voice of Arthur in his head, sounding just like Draco himself, and Merlin this was going to be annoying–

_ Merlin _ , Draco thought, and wistfulness lanced through him at the thought of the inscrutable, irritating wizard.

What Draco would give to have _Merlin_ by his side right now, annoying though he was. If anyone could give him answers, it was Merlin. But Arthur had been dead for centuries – possibly a millennium or more – and who even knew what had happened to the wizard in the meantime? 

The wizarding world had _stories_ , of course – but that was all they were, stories, and all anyone seemed to know for certain was that Arthur’s Court Wizard had disappeared forever after the final battle that had killed Arthur.

Although shortly afterwards, rumours had begun to circulate, of a spell that ensured that King Arthur would return to Britain in its greatest hour of need…

Apparently the rumours were at least half-true, Draco thought; he’d returned, after all. But the bit about returning to Britain _in its greatest hour of need_ worried him. The world was peaceful enough, aside from the display of the Dark Mark at the World Cup…

…a thought which was enough to draw Draco down a mental track he hadn’t wanted to go down.

Right up until this moment, Draco had been perfectly content with the knowledge that his Father had been a loyal Death Eater. Everyone in their social circle knew; most of them had similar loyalties.

But now, with Arthur in his head, Draco saw his Father’s loyalties very differently. His Father had followed a Dark Lord whose ultimate goal was mass genocide; a Dark Lord who – with his followers’ support and participation – had tortured and murdered anyone and everyone who had stood in his way. And his Father had done it all willingly.

Draco felt rather as though he might throw up. Draco had known, of course, that his Father wanted all the mud – _muggleborns_ dead, but it had been a kind of fantasy to him. He would get to be one of the elite, and everyone would kow-tow to him and treat him the way he’d believed he deserved. But Arthur had fought battles and wars, had _seen_ the gruesomeness of death and the genuine suffering of others – and the images that filled Draco’s mind now, as he thought about what would happen if his Father’s ideals were ever realised, could only be described as horrific.

A shiver went through Draco as he remembered what his Father had once told him: that he wasn’t entirely certain that the Dark Lord was gone forever. That someday he might return and call on all his old followers to bring glory to the wizarding world. At the time, Draco had been awed and excited by the idea, but now…

He wondered if his Father was right. The thought made something clench around his heart.

Draco put a hand to his temple, wishing that his headache would go away. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, but it was still unpleasant. No doubt it was the result of two lifetimes, and two people with very different experiences trying to mesh together into one.

Just then the curtains around Draco’s bed swished open, and Draco blinked up at Blaise.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said Blaise. “If you were still passed out I was going to fetch Professor Snape.”

“Well, I’m not,” said Draco, feeling irritated. Blaise should have gotten Professor Snape the moment Draco had passed out, not waited… however long it had been. “How long was I unconscious?”

“Since yesterday afternoon.” Blaise gave an indifferent shrug. “You mumbled something about a headache and passed out on the floor. I had Greg move you so that I wouldn’t trip over you.”

“Your concern is overwhelming,” Draco bit out, and then took a deep breath. Self control, he had it. There was no point in ranting at Blaise for his behaviour; a rant wouldn’t change anything. “What time is it now?”

Blaise looked a little surprised that Draco hadn’t launched into a rant, but answered, “Almost time for breakfast.”

Draco swore, and swung his legs out of bed so that he could stand. He wobbled a bit, and the pounding at his temples intensified a little, but otherwise he was fine.

As Blaise left to go down to breakfast, Draco got dressed in a hurry, before clattering up the stairs to the common room and out the door into the rest of the castle.

Five minutes later, Draco was convinced that someone or something hated him.

Every time he tried to pursue his usual route to the Great Hall, he’d find that the doors were locked or the staircases had changed, diverting him from his path. He’d been wandering around in circles for several minutes, trying to find a way out of the maze that the castle had turned into, somehow getting further and further away from his destination.

“Oh, come on!” Draco snarled. He wasn’t expecting a voice to speak behind him.

“Lost, Malfoy?”

Draco spun, and took in the sight of Potter standing there with an uncharacteristic smirk on his lips, and – no glasses. Draco was about to deliver an angry retort when Potter added, 

“Or should it be _Arthur?_ ”

Draco’s eyes widened.

“How do you –?”

But Potter’s eyes were green, a bright leaf-like green; the same shade as Merlin’s. Draco put two and two together. His jaw dropped.

“ _Merlin?_ ”

Potter grinned.

“Greetings, my King,” he said, and as was usual with Merlin there was an edge of faint, friendly mockery to that particular term of address.

Draco gaped at Potter for a full thirty seconds.

“How–” He snapped his jaw shut, and shook his head. “No, knowing you, I don’t want to know.”

The fracas of the previous night returned to Draco’s mind, and he blurted out, “What possessed you to enter the Triwizard Tournament? You’re hardly the type to go for fame and fortune.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” said Potter, as casually as if they’d been discussing the weather. “I suspect it’s a plot by Voldemort.”

Dread crawled down Draco’s spine.

“The Dark Lord is dead.” Even as he said it, he remembered the rumours from first year: that Potter had faced down the Dark Lord a second time. Draco had written them off as ridiculous at the time, but…

“No he isn’t,” said Potter, with absolute certainty. “He’s anchored his soul to this plane.”

“But isn’t that sort of thing…”

“The darkest of Dark Magic? Yes. As far as I can tell, he’s used the same method as Koschei the Deathless – except that Koschei only had one anchor, and evidence suggests that Tom has more than one. Three is a nice, magical number, so it’s possible that he has three, except that Tom has never believed that _less is more_ , so I’m inclined to believe he’s gone with the even more magical number of seven.”

Potter rattled all this off in a matter-of-fact voice, as though what he was relaying wasn’t utterly horrifying information.

Which was why it took Draco a moment to swallow, and ask–

“Tom?”

“Voldemort.”

“You call the Dark Lord _Tom?_ ”

“It’s his name.”

There was a long pause. Draco had no idea how to respond.

“You know,” said Potter, his gaze piercing, “the spell that Tom uses to Mark his vassals… you have to mean it, on both ends of the exchange. No one can be Marked while under the Imperius Curse. That’s not how it works.”

Draco opened his mouth, and shut it again, the automatic retort dying on his tongue.

“I know,” he finally said, and immediately wanted to kick himself, because his voice came out sounding wretched.

But there was understanding as well as sympathy in Potter’s eyes, and Draco remembered that Merlin’s own father had been a bone-fide _Lord of Hell_ , and if anyone understood what it was like to be related to a monster, it was Merlin.

Still, Draco did not want to undergo a heart to heart talk with _Potter_ of all people, not even knowing that Potter was Merlin, so he stomped down on his feelings and snapped out, 

“So you think the Dark Lord might be returning.”

Potter nodded placidly, although at least his smirk was gone, thank the Heavens.

“He’s tried before, and I stopped him, but he’s not going to stop trying unless I destroy all his anchors. There’s a spell he could be using to try and resurrect himself which calls for _blood of the enemy_ and his biggest enemy would most likely be either me or Dumbledore – and as far as Tom knows, I’m less formidable than Dumbledore. So I’d be the logical pick as a blood donor. The problem is, I have no idea how this ties into my name being entered into the Goblet of Fire.”

Potter’s voice was serene. Draco wanted to kick him.

“So you can’t circumvent the Dark Lord’s plan because you don’t know what it is,” he gritted out. “Can you destroy his anchors?”

“Probably,” said Potter. “But I’d need to find them, first. Fortunately, there’s a spell for that. I was hoping you’d help.” He looks at Draco expectantly.

There was nothing Draco wanted less than to help Potter. But he was still Arthur Pendragon, and the muggleborns were _his_ people and Britain was _his_ kingdom – changed beyond all imagining, yes, but Draco could still feel the steady hum of the magic of the land surrounding him, confirming his status as King. He’d felt that humming all his life – he just didn’t know what it was until his memories returned.

Now he knew what it meant, and the responsibilities that went with it. Whether he liked them or not.

“Fine,” said Draco. “When?”

“After breakfast?” Potter suggested. “It’s a Sunday, so we don’t have classes.” His expression suddenly changed, as though a thundercloud had passed over it. “And considering that one of my best friends isn’t speaking to me at the moment, the only person likely to come looking for me is Hermione.”

It only took a second or two for Draco to work out what that speech meant, because Weasley had always been jealous of the wealth and fame of others, even if he’d managed to keep that emotion on a leash for the last few years where Potter is concerned. Draco could only suppose that the fame and fortune promised by the Triwizard Tournament and the thought of Potter getting the spotlight _again_ was too much for him.

“Weasel believes you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” 

Normally that nickname would make Potter’s teeth clench, but Potter only said, his voice dry as dust, “Oh, yes.”

“You realise that he’s jealous.”

“I had realised that, yes.”

Draco hesitated, because while he didn’t like Weasley, at all…

“He’s a fourteen year old boy. Do you remember what an idiot I was at fourteen?”

Potter’s lips twitched. Definitely a yes. But the glint in his eyes was still hard and unforgiving.

“Ron may be only fourteen, but actions have consequences, and if he wants to destroy our friendship because he’s jealous of the fame and wealth I acquired _because my parents were murdered_ , then I’m not going to stop him. Let him live to regret it.” 

Potter’s eyes had turned to chips of green glass, hard and impenetrable, and it was times like these that Draco could see how it was that Merlin could lay claim to demonic parentage.

He knew better than to argue with Merlin when he was in that kind of vengeful mood, so he only said, “If that’s how you feel.”

Potter blinked, the hard lines smoothing away, his eyes returning to their usual new-leaf green.

“It is.”

“How will you distract Granger?” Draco asked, because he knew that the bushy-haired witch rarely left Potter’s side.

Potter grinned.

“Leave that to me.” He grabbed Draco’s wrist, ignoring Draco’s protest, and looked at his watch. “We should probably go to breakfast. Don’t want anyone thinking something’s up. I’m going to get enough attention as it is.”

“You _always_ get enough attention as it is,” Draco told him.

Potter only threw his head back and laughed.

“Touché,” he said, grinning, and clapped Draco on the shoulder. “Alright – after breakfast, meet me in the girls’ bathroom on the second floor.”

“The _what?_ ”

“The girls’s bathroom on the second floor,” Potter repeated, his tone irritatingly patient. “The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is there.”

Draco immediately understood.

“And what, you want to use it as a secret lair?”

Potter nodded, looking cheerful.

“I’ll change the passwords, ward the place to keep Tom out, and it’ll be perfect.”

Draco glared at him.

“You know, you’re as annoying as you ever were.”

Potter didn’t take offence, as Draco knew he wouldn’t. Instead he smiled Merlin’s most enigmatic smile.

“But of course, my King. Can you imagine my being any different?”

Draco held onto his last shred of patience and told him, “Go to breakfast, Potter.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you get chapter two early. Hopefully I found all the errors. I'm glad you guys like this fic so far!
> 
> Chapter warning: mentions of canonical child abuse in this chapter, and some of the consequences therein.

** Chapter Two **

Over breakfast, Draco watched Potter from his position at the Slytherin table. The only person who seemed to want to sit next to Potter was Granger; Weasley was sitting at the other end of the Gryffindor table, looking sullen, and occasionally sending Potter bitter looks. Every now and then someone would lean forward to ask Potter something, and then look disappointed or skeptical when he answered.

It was a little worrying. Draco was still more-or-less himself, despite having Arthur’s memories, but Potter had been behaving like… well, like _Merlin_ , and Merlin alone. There was no trace of his usual Potterish behaviour. It was like the Potter Draco had known before had been… replaced. 

Draco felt a chill go down his spine at the thought.

After breakfast, Draco made his way to the girls’ bathrooms on the second floor. Potter was already there when he arrived, lounging against a wall in a most un-Potter-like way.

Draco decided to ask the question that had been nagging at him before he lost his nerve.

“Are you still Potter?”

Potter’s head tilted, considering the question.

“I’m the same soul,” he answered at last. “But… no. In some ways I’m not. I’m Merlin first and foremost.”

Draco took a deep breath, because getting confirmation of his suspicions was unsettling, no matter how much he’d expected that answer.

“Why?”

Potter shrugged.

“When my past self and my current self were merging, I had choices about what parts of myself to keep. The parts of myself that weren’t the same between Merlin and Harry Potter were mostly the result of a childhood of abuse, and when I saw what I _could_ be, instead of Harry Potter, it was easy enough to discard those parts of me.” His lip curled. 

“But… you were a heroic bastard, and believe me I say that grudgingly–”

“Because I didn’t trust anyone else to rectify a problem,” Potter interrupted, his gaze intense. “Anyone else would have gone to adults for help, but my whole life was evidence that adults were untrustworthy and would do nothing. At the same time, I was used to being blamed for everything that _ever_ went wrong, and that influenced my mindset: I thought that if I didn’t take on a problem, then anything that happened was my fault. Not the fault of the adults who had refused to take on responsibility and listen to me when I tried to tell them about the problem, but _mine_.”

Draco absorbed Potter’s words. If that was how Potter had seen the world, and he’d kept on rushing in to solve every problem he’d ever encountered…

“That kind of attitude would have gotten you killed, sooner or later.”

Potter’s smile was anything but amused.

“I know. That’s why I discarded it.”

“You’re still planning to take down the Dark Lord, though,” Draco pointed out. “How is that your problem?”

Potter grimaced.

“Prophecy, for a start,” he said, and Draco made a face as well, because prophecies were tricky and dangerous things, impossible to escape. Somehow, Merlin always knew when there was one at work. 

“If I don’t try to fulfil it my way, it’ll fulfil itself however it wants,” Potter went on. “But I’m also the Court Wizard to the British Crown, as recognised by the Magic of the Land itself, and that means that Tom actually _is_ my responsibility.” The smirk returned. “And yours, of course, considering that you’re still recognised as the Monarch, magically-speaking.”

“I’d worked that out already,” Draco snapped, and then tried to calm himself down. “So where is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?”

Potter straightened up and stopped leaning against the wall.

“Right here,” he said, and let out a short string of hisses. A second later, one of the sinks sank down, out of sight, leaving a large pipe that was big enough for a person to slide down.

“No,” said Draco. “ _Potter_ –”

But Potter was already climbing down into the pipe and a second later he slid out of sight, the sound of echoing laughter trailing behind him.

Draco swore, loudly and creatively, before following.

Draco slid down, down, down, through the twists and turns of the pipe, and finally shot of the end to land in a heap. He was covered in slime.

He glared at Potter, who was laughing, and whose robes were somehow immaculately clean.

“Shut up–” Draco began to say, but Potter waved his wand without even bothering with the incantation, and all the slime dropped off Draco in an instant.

“Thanks,” said Draco, reluctantly. But Potter had already turned, and was walking down the length of the tunnel in front of them. Draco followed him, jogging slightly to catch up.

They rounded a corner and Draco stopped short, his hand going for the sword he didn’t have.

“What is _that?_ ”

“A shed basilisk skin,” said Potter, glancing back over his shoulder at Draco, the amusement in his eyes visible even in the dim light. “From Slytherin’s monster. Don’t worry, the actual basilisk is dead.” Potter sounded satisfied.

It was enough to make Draco suspicious.

“Potter, did you kill that thing _yourself?_ ”

“In second year, yeah.”

“Second year,” Draco repeated flatly. He reminded himself that Merlin was part-demon, and had magical reserves that no one else could even hope to match, but– 

_ Second year? _ Really? Draco shook his head, and told himself that it was a good thing Merlin had sworn himself to Arthur centuries earlier. Draco would hate to get on the wizard’s bad side. He’d come close enough several times as it was.

The tunnel ended not far after that, in a set of vast doors, decorated with interlocking serpents. Potter hissed again, and the doors slid open, revealing a vast chamber with a gigantic statue at one end.

Draco’s eyes, however, were riveted to the sight of the enormous dead basilisk that took up half the chamber floor. He was rooted to the spot.

Potter, though, paused momentarily to admire his earlier handiwork, said, “Huh. It’s a tad smaller than I remember,” and strolled forward into the chamber.

Draco made his legs move, reminding himself that he was Arthur Pendragon, and he’d faced down things almost as impressive as this before.

_ Almost _ , said the voice of Arthur in his head. Draco told it to shut up.

Potter, meanwhile, had conjured up some chairs and a table and was now pulling things out of his pockets: a map of Britain, some brightly-coloured thumb-tacks, a small black book with a jagged hole in the middle, and a notebook and self-inking quill. 

As Draco walked over, Potter spread the map of Britain out across the table, before opening the notebook and resting the tip of the quill against the paper. A muttered incantation from Potter, and the quill hovered in mid-air, ready to write things down.

“Did you just create a Dictation Quill in one incantation?” Draco blurted, and then wanted to smack himself. Because yes, it was a ridiculous feat of magic, but Merlin had been breaking the rules of magic for as long as Arthur had known him. It was just that Draco was a lot more familiar with those rules than Arthur had ever been.

Potter sent him a sly, sideways smile, and said, “Not exactly. I’m tying it into the spell I’m about to cast. Which reminds me – hold these.” He passed the box of colourful thumb-tacks to Draco.

The head of each colourful thumb-tack was made of some material that Draco had never encountered. The point was still made of metal, however.

“What are these made of?”

“Plastic,” said Potter. “Muggles invented it sometime this century, but I’m fuzzy on exactly when. I snuck out early this morning to buy some from a convenience store.”

Draco committed Potter’s explanation to memory.

“What do you want me to do with them, then?”

“When I cast the spell on Tom’s diary,” Potter lifted the little black book, “a light will shine on each of the places on the map where one of his soul-anchors is located. I want you to place a thumb-tack at the centre of each location. At the same time, the quill should begin writing down the nature of each soul-anchor and its location in the notebook, just in case.”

That sounded simple enough.

“Will the spell affect the soul-anchors?” Draco asked.

“They might glow a bit, but otherwise, not at all.” Potter readied his wand, and took a deep breath. “Get ready.”

Draco transferred his gaze to the map in front of him as Potter began reciting the incantation for the spell in a language that was long-dead, and probably forgotten by anyone else. Draco could feel the ambient magic in the room responding, gathering around Potter and the little black book in a way that made his hair stand on end.

The incantation was long, taking over a minute to speak. But Potter barked out the last syllable, crisp and clear, and the magic acted. The little black book began spinning frantically in the palm of Potter’s hand, and tiny pinpricks of bright green light began appearing across the map. Draco put a thumb-tack at the centre of each one, and glanced at Potter.

“That’s all of–” 

Draco stopped. A moment later he said, very carefully: “Potter, why is your forehead glowing green?”

“Bugger,” said Potter. He leaned down to look at the notebook, where the quill was busily writing out soul-anchors and their addresses. “That confirms a theory.”

“ _What_ theory?”

“That my scar is a soul-anchor. Or horcrux, to use the technical term. A fragment of Tom’s soul, to anchor the rest of it.”

For a moment Draco was rendered unable to speak. Then he found his voice.

“You have a piece of _the Dark Lord’s soul_ embedded _in_ _your forehead?”_

“ _Finite_ ,” said Potter with a wave of his wand, and the green light died away. The little black book stopped spinning in his hand. “And yes. Apparently. It explains quite a bit, actually.”

Draco fought the urge to throttle the cryptic wizard.

“How does it explain anything, Potter?” he said, in what he hoped was a calm and reasonable voice.

Potter began ticking off a list on his fingers.

“ _One_ , my ability to speak Parseltongue. _Two_ , the visions I’ve been getting of Tom. _Three_ , why Dumbledore was so damn cagey about telling me why Tom murdered my parents… he probably thinks I need to die in order to kill Voldemort, which opens up an entire avenue of speculation about the quality of my childhood that I’d rather not think about right now.”

Potter’s tone was light, but his expression was anything but.

“So yes,” Potter finished, “it explains quite a bit.”

Draco put a hand over his face and breathed for a second.

“Tell me you can get rid of it. The horcrux.”

When Draco lowered his hand, Potter was smirking.

“Sure. Why, feeling concerned, Malfoy?”

“Of course I’m bloody concerned! I might be a prat sometimes but I’m not a _monster_ , Potter!”

Potter’s smile edged into apologetic.

“I know,” he said, quietly, and Draco took deep breaths until he felt less like screaming. 

The thought of a fragment of _the Dark Lord’s soul_ being stuck in Potter’s forehead made Draco feel sick. Such magic was twisted and unnatural, and Draco’s gorge rose.

“Sit down, Malfoy; you look like you’re about to pass out,” said Potter, not unkindly. Draco did as he suggested.

After a moment Draco said – still a little shaky, still a little green around the edges – “How are you so calm?”

“I already suspected,” said Potter. “Believe me, I wasn’t so calm last night, when I worked it out – especially not when I realised that our kindly old headmaster was probably plotting my death for the sake of the people. I was sick twice. I think my dorm mates believed I’d been sneaking the firewhiskey the twins had gotten hold of for the impromptu party last night.”

Draco stared, not sure what part of Potter’s little speech was more disturbing. Probably the bit about Dumbledore. Draco’s Father had always gone on about how Dumbledore was too soft, too concerned with muggleborns. Discovering that he might have been planning the death of a fourteen year old boy for the greater good of all was disturbing, to say the least.

“Right,” said Draco eventually. “So how do we destroy these things?”

Potter’s answering smile was sharp and wicked.

“I thought you’d never ask.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: use of magical allure in this chapter. Nothing bad happens to anyone, but it's a bit upsetting for the people involved.

** Chapter Three **

Somehow, the discussion on how to destroy horcruxes turned into Potter recounting exactly what had happened at the end of second year.

Draco had known, of course, that the Weasley girl had been rescued from the Chamber of Secrets by Potter, but the hows and whys of it were more horrifying than he’d expected. He couldn’t help imagining what it would have been like for the Weasley girl – wondering if she was going mad, only to realise that something far worse was happening… 

Draco shuddered.

“So how did the diary get into Weasley’s possessions in the first place?” he asked, once Potter was finished.

Potter sent him an unreadable look.

“Your father slipped it into her things during the fight with Mr Weasley at Flourish & Blotts.”

Hearing those words, for Draco, was like having a bucket of cold water thrown over him.

“Oh,” Draco managed. He changed the subject. “So have you kept hold of the diary all this time?”

Potter sent him a sympathetic look, but rolled with the subject change.

“Oh, no, not at all. I used it to trick your father into freeing Dobby.”

Draco blinked.

“Wait, Dobby? Our old house-elf?” 

Draco had wondered what had happened to Dobby, of course – he’d been born into their family’s service, and house elves raised in those circumstances were usually more loyal than those who had been purchased later in life. You didn’t just sell them, or give them away. But when Draco had asked, his Father had told him _never you mind_ , and he’d been so patently angry that Draco had avoided the subject after that. But he’d wondered.

Thinking of the Malfoy house-elves now, Draco felt a pang of guilt and remorse. As Draco Malfoy, he’d simply grown up taking their service for granted – but Arthur remembered when the compact between wizard and elves was new, and there were still elves who lived free, strange and very alien compared to those who had been changed by the compact. 

Merlin had been friends with some of them back then, Draco remembered.

“Yes, your former house elf,” said Potter. He was grinning. “He warned me, you see. He fought the magic binding him to your family, and tried to give me hints as to what was happening. So when your father showed up to the school with Dobby, I grabbed the diary and gave it back to him – but first, I wrapped it in a sweaty, bloody, downright disgusting sock.”

“You what?” Draco couldn’t imagine what that would achieve. 

“The first thing your father did was throw the sock to one side… right in Dobby’s direction.” Potter looked smug. “Dobby caught it, and by the letter of the compact, he was free. Your father had given him clothing, after all.”

Draco gave Potter a wide-eyed stare. No wonder his Father had been so furious.

“And Father didn’t curse you?”

“He tried.” Potter was grinning wider than ever. “Dobby threw him down a flight of stairs. Anyway,” Potter leaned back in his chair, “when I realised that I needed the diary back, I contacted Dobby and asked if he could break in and get it for me. The other elves weren’t happy about it, but when he told them it was for me, they agreed.”

“You always were friendly with the fae, weren’t you?” Draco said, recalling some uncomfortable incidents.

“Only the nicer ones,” said Potter. “But yes.” He smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “Most wizards seemed to have forgotten exactly what they’ve let into their households. Wizards used to respect the elves, once upon a time.”

Draco knew from his own experience that this was true. Camelot’s main fortress had had house-elves, back in the day, and everyone had treated them with care and respect, never forgetting that they were dealing with the fae. But then – those particular house-elves had bound themselves to Merlin, and they were rather more wild and peculiar than most house-elves were. You had to be careful.

“What happened to Dobby?” Draco asked.

“I’m so glad you asked,” said Potter. “You can ask him yourself. _Dobby!_ ”

There was a quiet _pop_ , and then Dobby was standing in the Chamber of Secrets with them, looking around the chamber with a look of wide-eyed interest. Instead of a pillowcase, he was wearing a pair of shorts, a knitted jumper with bobbles on it, and a pair of mismatched socks.

“Harry-Potter-who-is-Merlin-Friend-To-Elves is calling Dobby?”

“Hello, Dobby,” said Potter, and his fond smile was undoubtedly genuine. “Draco wanted to talk to you.”

Dobby’s stare transferred to Draco.

“Former Young Master Draco is wanting to talk to Dobby?” He looked suspicious.

Draco cleared his throat. This was awkward, and more difficult than he’d expected.

“Hello, Dobby. Potter told me that he tricked Father into freeing you.”

Dobby nodded, still looking wary. 

“What happened after that? Are you still a free elf?”

“Oh, yes. Dobby was working for Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts, but Dobby is giving his notice this morning and coming to work for Merlin sir. Professor Dumbledore was paying Dobby one galleon a week and giving him one day off a month, and Merlin sir is doing the same.”

“I’m glad,” said Draco. “How my family treated you – it wasn’t right. I’m sorry, Dobby.”

Dobby’s eyes went even rounder than they were already.

“Former Young Master Draco is _sorry?_ ”

Draco was very aware of Potter’s grin.

“I am.”

Dobby eyed him for a moment, then said: “Dobby is forgiving Former Young Master Draco, because he was not knowing any better. Dobby is glad he is knowing better now.”

Draco cleared his throat again.

“Thanks.”

“Just call him Draco, Dobby,” said Potter. “Besides, didn’t I tell you he was King Arthur reborn?”

“Merlin sir is, but Dobby was not sure he was believing it.” Dobby looked up at Draco with wide, solemn eyes. “Dobby believes now. Dobby will tell the other elves.”

He popped away without another word.

“Stop grinning, Potter.”

But Potter didn’t lose the grin.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, it became clear that the school was, once again, holding a grudge against Potter. The only ones who seemed enthusiastic about Potter being declared a Triwizard Champion were the Gryffindors, and even they, according to Potter, still believed he’d cheated his way in.

“It’s a wonder you’re not sick to death of all of them,” said Draco, as the two of them planned how best to obtain and destroy each of the Dark Lord’s – no, _Tom’s_ – horcruxes.

Potter arched one eyebrow, something he’d never done before remembering that he was Merlin.

“Who says I’m not?”

Both of them still had homework assignments to complete, and friends and acquaintances to avoid making suspicious – and Potter had to prepare for the Tournament, as well. Still, Draco thought they’d done a pretty good job of balancing their time until he and Potter exited the tunnel connected to the Chamber of Secrets, climbed back up into the girls’ bathroom, and came face to face with an unimpressed-looking Hermione Granger.

“Ah,” said Potter, soft and rueful. “Hi, Hermione.”

“Harry Potter,” said the witch, with a look in her eye that made Draco keep a wary distance – he hadn’t forgotten getting slapped the year before. Fortunately, her ire seemed aimed at Potter. “What have you been doing?”

“Snogging,” said Potter promptly. Draco choked on air, and began gasping and wheezing.

“Potter – you – _you_ –”

“What?” asked Potter, watching him with a soulful-eyed concern that Draco knew down to his bones was fake. “Are you okay, Draco?”

Fortunately, Granger’s narrow-eyed glare told Draco that she hadn’t bought Potter’s story.

“ _Harry_ ,” she said, and the word was a command. 

Harry smirked, and shifted in an insouciant pose.

“You have to admit, it was a nice excuse,” he said, and Draco made angry tea-kettle noises.

“ _Potter–!”_

Potter patted Draco on the arm. 

“It’s fine, Malfoy. I’m not actually going to snog you.”

Draco felt his face heat up. He tried to pretend that it was solely indignation.

“Never in a million years,” he said, and stalked back to the pipe. “Come on Granger,” he called over his shoulder. “If you want to know what’s going on, you might as well follow us into the snake’s nest. Heaven knows I won’t get any peace, otherwise.”

Granger stared at him for a moment, her expression calculating. Then she moved to follow him to the pipe. 

Draco slid down, and emerged just in time to step out of Granger’s way as she shot out of the pipe. Potter followed her a minute or so afterwards.

“This way,” said Potter. Granger sent Draco another calculating glance as he stepped into line next to Potter, but followed both of them.

Not that Draco could blame her for the way she was looking at him. He’d treated all the muggleborns in the school badly, but her especially. He’d never admit it, but he’d deserved the slap he’d gotten last year. It was only a wonder she hadn’t cursed him.

They reached the Chamber of Secrets’ doors, and at Potter’s hiss they slid open. Granger gasped, her wide eyes taking in the sight. Then she turned to glare at Potter again.

“Harry! Don’t tell me you faced that basilisk alone! It’s got to be fifty feet long!”

Potter’s face softened. 

“I know.”

To Draco’s bemusement, Granger threw herself at Potter in a hug. Potter seemed happy enough to be hugged. When the two friends broke apart, Granger was looking distressed.

“Never again,” she said fiercely. “Not alone, you hear me?” She turned, and allowed her gaze to travel over the room again. Frowning, she walked over to where the map lay on the table, with coloured thumb-tacks stuck in it. “What’s this?”

“That’s easier to explain if I tell you some other things first,” said Potter. He squared his shoulders. “Malfoy is King Arthur, Hermione. And I’m Merlin.”

Granger blinked. Then she blinked again. Finally she said, “What? Harry, this is no time to joke – I came here for explanations–”

“And I’m trying to give them to you, Hermione.” Potter’s voice was calm, amiable even, but there was a thread of steel in it that was impossible to miss. “Will you listen?”

Granger took a deep breath.

“You’re Merlin,” she said doubtfully. Potter didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

“Alright,” said Granger slowly. “Then prove it to me.”

Potter nodded as though he’d expected this.

“What do you know about Merlin’s parentage, Hermione?”

Granger blinked again.

“Well – according to the stories, he was the offspring of a princess and a demon, but that seems…”

Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening. Draco knew exactly why, because he was feeling the same thing.

“Not merely a demon, but Lord of the Incubi,” said Potter, and his voice was like honey, and Draco didn’t want to turn and look at him, but did anyway. Potter still looked like himself, except that all of a sudden he also looked like the most tempting being on the planet. Draco reached down and pinched his own arm. The pain helped a little, but if Potter kept this up the allure was going to overwhelm Draco any minute now–

The allure suddenly cut off, and Draco could breathe again. The lust he’d been feeling was abruptly _gone_. 

Well, mostly – Potter had filled out these last few years from the scrawny little kid he’d been in first year, and up until this moment Draco had been happily in denial about finding the pillock attractive. Of course, Potter’s little demonstration had broken right through that denial.

“For fuck’s sake, Potter!” Draco bellowed. “Don’t _do that!”_

Potter’s smile was sad and a little twisted around the edges.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But it’s the easiest proof I have.”

Granger looked as shaken as Draco felt, and her face was flushed. But she no longer looked doubtful.

“Never do that again, Harry.” She took several deep breaths. 

Draco did the same thing.

“You’re Merlin.” Granger’s gaze shifted to Draco. “And you’re… King Arthur?”

“I am,” said Draco. He coughed. “And I’d like to apologise for – well – everything.”

“Hmm,” said Granger, still eying him.

“He means it, Hermione. I can guarantee you of that.” Potter strolled over to where the map lay. “But you wanted to know about the map.”

Granger looked at Potter in expectation. Draco tried to get himself back under control.

“What do you know about horcruxes? Soul anchors,” Potter added, when Granger only looked blank.

Granger’s brow wrinkled.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.”

“Good,” said Potter. “To give you the short version, a horcrux is a portion of a fragmented soul, placed in a physical object of some kind in order to anchor the rest of the soul to the mortal plane. Dear old Voldemort currently has five of them.”

Draco watched as the blood drained from Granger’s face. After a moment she looked back at the map, at the notebook filled with addresses, and began reading them out.

_ “Slytherin’s Locket: Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Islington. Peverell Ring: the Gaunt Shack, Little Hangleton. Diadem of Ravenclaw: Room of Requirement, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland. Hufflepuff Cup: Lestrange Vault, Gringotts, London. Harry Potter’s–”  _

Granger cut herself off with a gasp as she realised what the last entry in the notebook said. Slowly she lifted her head, her eyes filled with horror and fear.

“It’s alright, Granger,” said Draco, when it was clear that Potter wasn’t about to say anything. “Potter assures me that he can remove it.”

“Of course I can,” said Potter, a smile curving his mouth. “I’m Merlin the Magnificent.”

On principle, Draco tried to hex him. Potter side-stepped the hex easily, still smiling.

“You’re a prat,” Draco told him. Potter bowed.

“As you say, my King.”

Granger watched the two of them with a sudden furrow between her eyebrows. Draco couldn’t blame her.

“Are you two… friends?”

“Of course,” said Potter easily. “Arthur always was my closest friend.”

“Wait, I was what?” 

Potter sent Draco a curious look.

“My closest friend,” he repeated, all matter-of-fact, and the repetition didn’t help his statement make any more sense than before. 

Merlin had been irritating, mysterious, and prone to disappearing for long periods of time, only to turn up again, make an announcement of bad news that no one wanted to hear, and stick around just long enough to help with the resulting chaos before swanning off again to who-knew-where.

Draco tried to fit this together with the idea of Arthur being Merlin’s closest friend. It… didn’t really compute. But Potter’s expression was serious – genuinely serious, not the fake, trying-to-pull-your-leg-for-laughs serious expression Merlin sometimes wore – and Draco supposed that he must mean it. 

The idea was rather staggering.

Granger, though, seemed to sense something that Draco hadn’t.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, with a sigh. Potter gave her a crooked smile, and said nothing.

Draco looked between them.

“I’m missing something.”

But Potter only smiled, a little ruefully, and didn’t say another word on the topic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so mean to Ron in this chapter. Or rather - Harry is. Upcoming angst alert!

** Chapter Four **

The day before the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, Draco was sitting in an empty corner of the library, hidden in the stacks, and taking some time to study.

His solitude was abruptly broken when Potter dropped into the chair beside him and _sprawled._

“Potter, what are you doing–”

“Apparently the first task of the Tournament is dragons,” said Potter, out of nowhere, and Draco cut himself off.

“Dragons?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“What are you doing to do?”

Potter gave him a devilish grin.

“You do remember that I can shapeshift?”

“You mean you’re an animagus?” said Draco.

“No,” said Potter. “I know you have the memories somewhere. Find them.”

Draco sat back and wracked his brain, trying to think what Potter was talking about. After a moment, memory rose to the forefront of his mind.

Merlin wasn’t an animagus – he could shapeshift into almost anything, although his favourite form was of course his namesake, the merlin. But his second-favorite form…

“ _No_ ,” said Draco, and Potter laughed quietly. “Potter, you’re the only wizard ever to take that form – people will figure it out–”

“So what if they do?” Potter looked amused. “I rather like the idea of Tom shivering in his shoes because he’s worked out who I am.”

Draco groaned, and let his head _thud_ into the wooden surface of the table in front of him.

“Besides,” said Potter, “it’s been nearly a thousand years, no one’s going to actually think, _gosh, look at that, he’s turned into a dragon, it means that Harry Potter must be_ –”

“Draco?”

At the sound of Pansy’s voice, Draco sat up in a hurry. Sure enough, Pansy was standing there, staring between him and Potter in surprise and some disfavour.

“What is _he_ doing sitting with you?”

“Er–”

Potter opened his mouth to speak, and Draco kicked him under the table. He _knew_ that the other boy was about to use the ‘snogging’ excuse again.

“Not a word, Potter.”

Potter only smirked.

“Draco?” said Pansy again, and Draco decided, _screw it_.

“We’re friends.” It was even true, despite how exasperating Potter was at times.

Pansy’s mouth dropped open.

“But – _why?_ ” she said, her voice going shrill. “Draco, he’s against everything our families stand for–”

“So am I.” 

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Draco knew that he was going to regret them. He was part of Slytherin House, which would no doubt make his life miserable over this – and that was before Draco even began considering the reactions of his parents… But he had to say it.

Pansy stared at him like she’d never seen him before. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” she said, and her voice was almost a whisper. 

Draco gave a jerky nod, acutely aware of Potter’s silent, considering presence in the chair next to him.

“I do.”

Pansy looked at him for a moment. Then her nose went up.

“You’re going to regret siding with Potter of all people, Draco.”

Draco didn’t answer. Pansy gave a loud sniff, and turned and walked away.

Draco’s stomach was churning. After a moment, he let his head drop down to hit the surface of the desk again.

“I’m an idiot.”

“But a brave one.”

“Shut up, Potter. You’re not helping.”

Draco felt a hand on his shoulder, and allowed Potter to pull him back up into a sitting position. Potter was looking at him, and the leaf-green eyes were disconcertingly sincere.

“I mean it,” said Potter. “And you have my support, whatever that’s worth.”

Draco had to admit, the support of the most powerful wizard he’d ever met was worth a lot. Still–

“I hope you have somewhere I can go when my Father inevitably disowns me,” he grumbled, only half-exaggerating.

Potter frowned, his expression going distant.

“I should have a tower somewhere, assuming that the spells haven’t worn off and it’s still standing. It was under _Fidelius_ , so it should have been left alone. It was right outside Caer Lundein – it’s probably surrounded by half of modern London, by now. I’ll have to go find it.”

Draco blinked.

“You never told me that. Wait – is that where you used to disappear off to? There were always rumours that you were returning to another realm, or something.”

Potter tried to stifle his laughter, mindful of Madam Pince’s rules about being noisy in the library.

“Really?” 

Draco couldn’t help but smile slightly at Potter’s evident mirth.

“I never said that _I_ believed them. To be honest, I thought you were probably off gallivanting with elves or something.”

This time Potter really did laugh, and Madam Pince swooped down on them and kicked them out of the library.

“Thanks a bunch, Potter,” Draco said, once they were out in the hallway. “I was trying to study.”

“But there are so many more interesting things than studying,” said Potter. “Wouldn’t you rather go looking for my tower? Think of it as an adventure.”

“Adventures with you rarely go well,” said Draco, but he thought about it. “Why do you want to do this now?”

“Well, I’m bored–”

“Heaven forbid–”

“–and to be honest, I’m getting sick of everyone’s attitudes,” finished Potter, as though Draco hadn’t tried to interrupt him. “I’m _this_ close to turning them all into toads.” He held his forefinger and thumb half an inch apart.

“You can’t turn the entire school into toads,” said Draco, even though he kind of wanted to see it happen. “And no, Potter. I’m not going looking for your tower right now. I need to study. I haven’t finished my essay due Friday, yet.”

Potter sighed.

“You’re no fun,” he told Draco. “Alright. Go study. And if anyone gives you trouble over being friends with me, I’ll turn them into a weasel.”

“You should do that to Weasley,” said Malfoy, because for Potter’s supposed best friend besides Granger, Weasley was still being a right berk.

“Don’t tempt me,” said Potter, looking wistful. Draco squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of support, and went off to study in an abandoned classroom.

* * *

By the next morning, the school was buzzing over two things: one, the upcoming first task of the Tournament taking place that day; and two, the fact that schoolyard nemeses Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had inexplicably become friends.

Draco sat and ate his breakfast, keeping a wary eye on his housemates, who were watching him thoughtfully. There was no sign of Potter. At all.

Nor was there any sign of Potter at lunch. From the gossip, it seemed that no one had seen him at all since the night before.

Draco made his way down to the stands where the spectators were supposed to sit, some unnamed emotion gnawing at the pit of his stomach. 

“Draco!” a voice called, and he turned around to see Granger waving at him from the Gryffindor section of the stands. After a moment, he realised that she was gesturing for him to sit with her.

His eyebrows raised, Draco considered his options. On the one hand, there was an unwritten rule against members of one House sitting in a different House’s section of the stands. On the other… well, it would make a statement of Draco’s allegiances, better than Draco himself could.

Not to mention there was the added bonus of pissing off the Gryffindors.

Decision made, Draco climbed the stands until he reached Granger, where he sat in the empty space next to her, ignoring the indignant protests of the other Gryffindors.

“Granger,” he said with a nod.

“Oh, none of that – call me Hermione,” Granger said briskly. “We’re both friends with Harry, after all.”

Draco eyed her for a moment.

“And does that make… _us_ … friends?” he asked slowly.

“I haven’t decided yet,” said Granger – _Hermione_ , and Draco supposed that was fair. He settled back in his seat, and looked out towards the centre of the stadium. 

As he watched, a team of dragon handlers manoeuvred a sedated dragon into the space below. Within minutes, the dragon came awake, snarling and spitting blue flames. It was crouched protectively over something –a clutch of eggs, Draco realised after a moment.

“They’re using _mother dragons?_ ” Granger nearly shrieked in his ear, apparently making the same connection Draco had. “That’s far too dangerous! What are they _thinking!_ I thought this year’s Tournament was supposed to be safer!” 

“Relax, Gra –Hermione. Potter will be fine.”

Just then Weasley arrived in the stands, and Draco knew the exact moment Weasley spotted him: their eyes met, and Weasley turned as red as his hair.

“Hermione! What are you doing with him?” Weasley hollered, storming up to them.

“We’re both here to cheer on Harry,” said Hermione primly.

“That cheater?” said Weasley. “He’s consorting with _Slytherins_ , now?”

“You’re not very clever sometimes, are you, Weasley?” Draco drawled. “Do you honestly think that Potter would seek out this kind of situation for the fame and the money?”

For just a moment, Weasley looked uncertain, and a little guilty. But the expression was swept away by anger.

“You–”

“Oh, Ron, if you’re going to fight, just go away,” snapped Hermione. 

Looking hurt and angry, Weasley stomped off just as the commentator began to explain that each champion was tasked with retrieving a golden egg from the dragon’s clutch. A few minutes later Diggory’s name was announced, and the first champion emerged from the entrance to the stadium. 

Draco barely paid attention, waiting for the moment Potter was supposed to enter the stadium, and wondering if he actually would. He watched the other champions go up against their dragons and hardly cared. The gnawing at the pit of his stomach grew worse.

Finally, the fourth dragon was brought into the stadium, a Hungarian Horntail, and everyone waited with bated breath for the fourth and final champion to begin his task.

“AND NOW, OUR FOURTH CHAMPION, THE SECOND REPRESENTATIVE FOR HOGWARTS – HARRY POTTER!”

The crowd of students and other spectators had by now seen what each champion was facing, and even those who had been angry with Potter for ‘stealing Cedric Diggory’s glory’ found themselves waiting in anticipation, knowing what Potter was up against. A cheer went up.

Potter stepped into the stadium, looking supremely unconcerned by the fact that he was going to be required to face a dragon. The cheers turned to a roar.

To tell the truth, Draco felt a little sorry for the dragon. If it tried to fight Potter, it wouldn’t know what had hit it.

A hush fell as Potter didn’t pause, but kept on walking. He stopped some distance away from the angry dragon, and looked up at her. Even from where Draco sat, the flash of a grin was visible.

Potter reached up with his wand, waving it around himself – and disappeared from sight. The crowd broke into exclamations of surprise and confusion.

“What did he do?” Hermione asked, peering down into the centre of the stadium.

“Disillusionment Charm,” said Draco, who had seen Merlin use the charm before. “It’s an old trick of his – making the charm strong enough to turn him invisible.”

“A Disillusionment Charm? But that’s a NEWT-level charm!”

Draco sent her a dry look. Hermione blushed.

“Right. Of course he’s capable of a NEWT-level charm. I forgot.”

“I’m pretty sure he invented that particular charm, actually,” said Draco, lowering his voice so that he wouldn’t be overheard.

Hermione’s eyes glazed over for a second, and Draco could practically see her struggling to reconcile her good friend, _Harry Potter_ with history’s most famous wizard, _Merlin Emrys_.

Finally, Hermione blinked, and followed it up with a sigh.

“I should have guessed he was… more capable than most people think. I mean, I’ve seen him drive off a hundred Dementors with a single use of the Patronus Charm–” 

Draco jolted at that, and had his mouth open ready to say _please tell me you’re joking,_ but Hermione went on without a pause.

“–but he always seemed to struggle with school-work and homework assignments, so I thought that was just a fluke – desperation and adrenalin combining to boost him beyond his usual capabilities.”

Draco knew what she meant. Aside from occasionally doing something surprising, like speaking Parseltongue or using the Patronus Charm, Potter had always seemed… well… _average_. 

But Potter’s words from weeks ago came back to him, and he frowned. A nasty suspicion started forming in his brain. Arthur had occasionally encountered magical children out in the villages who had been raised by non-magical people, and they were often feared or mistrusted for their abilities. Most of them had learned to hide their magic, or attempted to suppress it. Usually with unpleasant results.

“I wonder,” Draco said, and stopped. He started again. “Potter told me he was… abused. I assume by his muggle relatives. Do you think… is it possible… that he was punished for being different? _Magical?_ ”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she understood what Draco was getting at, and then, to Draco’s consternation, filled with tears.

“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re right. How did I never see it?” Her bottom lip quivered.

Draco found himself patting her on the shoulder, and saying _there, there_ in the desperate hope of preventing Hermione from bursting into tears.

To his relief, it seemed to work. Hermione pulled herself together, even if her eyes still seemed rather watery.

Just then there was a gasp from the crowd, and they looked down into the centre of the stadium to see a glint of gold moving beneath the Horntail’s left wing. The golden egg was being picked up.

Hermione clutched at Draco’s arm.

“He’s _under the dragon!_ ” she squeaked. “If it notices he’s there…”

“He’ll be fine,” Draco told her. “If nothing else, he can apparate away.”

“But Hogwarts’ Anti-Apparition Wards–”

“Won’t stop him.”

Hermione took a deep breath. The two of them watched, alongside the rest of the spectators, as the egg suddenly disappeared as though tucked into an invisible robe.

A couple of minutes later, Potter appeared in view, a safe distance from the dragon, and pulled out the golden egg from where he’d stashed it in his robes.

The crowd roared their approval. Potter looked up at the crowd, grinned, and gave a theatrical bow. Somehow, the cheers, whistles and applause became even louder as Potter straightened, and turned and headed for the exit.

Draco didn’t stay to listen to the commentator’s gushing. He was already taking the stairs two at a time, hurrying down towards the champions’ tent.

He burst in, Granger close behind him, and ignored Victor Krum’s scowl at the intrusion as he headed straight for where Potter sat, on the other side of the tent, turning the golden egg over and over in his hands.

Potter looked up as Draco approached. 

“Hey. What did you think of my performance?” Potter raised one eyebrow, waiting for Draco’s reply.

“Impressive,” said Draco. Potter smiled at him.

Diggory was frowning at them in confusion.

“I thought you two were enemies?” he asked, from where he was sitting on a chair of his own. Draco only shrugged, and didn’t explain.

“Oh, Harry, that was amazing!” said Hermione, tackling Potter in a hug. He grinned.

“Thanks, Hermione.”

“What did he do?” asked the Beauxbatons Champion, turning to face them, and for a moment Draco gaped at the most dazzling-looking girl he’d ever seen, even more beautiful than Guinevere–

Then Potter reached out and touched his shoulder, and the world righted itself. All of a sudden the Beauxbatons Champion was just a pretty girl, and nothing more. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, and tried not to think of Guinevere. Up until now he’d been so successful at it, too.

When Draco finally opened his eyes again he glanced back at Potter, who sent him a wry look. Draco gave him a small nod of thanks.

“He used the Disillusionment Charm to turn invisible,” said Hermione to the older girl, glancing at Draco and Potter with a vaguely worried expression, understanding that something had just happened, but not what.

“Pardon?” The Beauxbatons Champion gave Hermione a blank stare.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” asked Diggory. “He’s a _fourth-year_.” Krum just sat and observed the conversation from his corner of the tent.

There was the sound of running footsteps, and Weasley burst into the tent before Potter could answer.

“Harry!” He sounded out of breath, from exertion and excitement. “That was _amazing_ , mate!”

Potter’s expression closed off, and the air around him seemed to drop in temperature. Everyone else looked suddenly uncomfortable.

“Ron.”

Weasley didn’t seem to notice the change in atmosphere.

“I mean, turning invisible like that – how’d you do it?”

“Why?” said Potter. “So you can accuse me of cheating at that, too?”

Weasley blinked.

“I didn’t– I mean–” He swallowed. “I didn’t _mean_ it.”

“Oh, good,” said Potter. His eyes were glittering in a way that boded ill for Weasley. “So you turned your back on me and told the whole school – who believed you, by the way – that I was a cheater, but you didn’t _mean_ it. That’s very reassuring.”

Weasley went pale, then red. Hermione was glancing between the two boys, with an expression suggesting that she was on the edge of tears again.

“Harry–”

“No, Ron. I trusted you, and you threw that trust away. And why? Because you were jealous of my fame and money, fame and money that I only had because my parents _died_ – were _murdered_.”

Each word out of Potter’s mouth was cool and concise, delivered with maximum effect. Draco saw Weasley flinch.

“I’d have given anything to have a family like you do, but all you could see was what you didn’t have. I understand that life has been hard for you, that people sneer and make comments about hand-me-down robes and more children than your parents can afford, but life hasn’t exactly been easy for me, either. At least your family cares about you. That’s something I’ve never had – and you know it.”

Weasley looked sick, like it was finally dawning on him that he’d thrown away the best friendship he’d ever had.

“But you–” Potter began to say, and Draco decided that enough was enough. 

“Enough, Potter,” he said, and Potter turned icy green eyes on him. “I’m sure he’s gotten the point. He doesn’t need you to tear him apart.”

“No one asked you, you – you _ferret!_ ” Weasley spluttered, flushing again. 

Draco felt his expression turn cold at the reference to Professor Moody transforming him into a ferret earlier in the term. That experience had been terrifying, painful, and humiliating. Two of his ribs had been broken by Moody bouncing him up and down off the floor, and while Madam Pomfrey had fixed him up soon enough, the whole thing had left him shaken and angry. He’d never felt so helpless in his life as he had then.

“Never mind, Potter. Go ahead and eviscerate him.”

Potter smiled, sharp and full of teeth, and finished his little speech. By the time he was done Weasley looked like someone had torn out his heart and stomped all over it. 

“So no, Ron,” Potter finished, turning away, “I don’t accept your apology. Go to hell.”

Weasley stood there for a moment, looking devastated, before turning and running out of the champions’ tent.

Hermione was sniffling, clearly upset that the Golden Trio had been torn asunder. But Potter’s face could have been carved from stone – or ice. The other Triwizard Champions looked varying degrees of stunned or uncomfortable.

Draco put a hand on Potter’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, trying to break the tense atmosphere. “Let’s go out and find out what your score for the first task was.”

Potter gave Draco a wan smile.

“Yeah. Alright.”

Together, they left the tent. After a moment, Hermione followed them out, still sniffling audibly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't properly checked this chapter, so there may be errors. Also, mentions of the death of Arthur here, that part's a bit grim.

** Chapter Five **

As it turned out, Potter got the highest score out of all the champions: his spellwork had been perfect beyond even what was expected of a seventh year student, and he’d obtained the golden egg without being injured, hurting the dragon or damaging the real dragon eggs – things the other champions had all lost points for. The judges had given Potter full points, except for Karkaroff, who gave him a measly five out of ten. Karkaroff had been soundly booed by the spectators, so apparently Draco wasn’t alone in thinking this was unfair.

While they were on their way to the castle, Potter opened the golden egg. The air immediately filled with a horrible screeching wail. Draco and Hermione clapped their hands over their ears, cringing.

“Potter, shut it off!” Draco yelled over the din.

But Potter stood there, listening to the horrible noise with an intent expression, before finally shutting the egg again. The sound cut off.

Draco and Hermione breathed sighs of relief. The group resumed their walk up to the castle.

“What was that?” Hermione asked.

“Mermish,” said Potter absently. “And you know, Draco, you’re allowed to call me Harry.” His eyes met Draco’s, unexpectedly serious.

For some reason, that made Draco feel off-balance.

“Fine then,” he said. “Harry.” 

It felt strange calling Potter _Harry_ , after all these years. Calling him _Merlin_ would have been easier.

Harry smiled at him in response. Draco promptly tripped over a clump of dirt and nearly fell over.

Up at the castle, Harry and Hermione went off in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, wherever that was (Potter had said something about indulging the Gryffindors’ need to celebrate), and Draco had, on his own, begun the long trek down to the dungeons where his common room was.

He walked through the common room without stopping to talk to anyone, headed downstairs to his dorm room, and threw himself down on his bed.

Now that he was alone with his thoughts, they kept circling back to Guinevere. Draco closed his eyes against the pain in his heart. 

He’d loved Guinevere, truly and faithfully… and she had repaid him by having an affair with Lancelot, his most trusted knight, at a time when the kingdom was at risk of falling apart. Arthur had been stricken with grief and rage at the betrayal of the two people he had most trusted, and his judgment had been… erratic, as a result.

This would have been disastrous at the best of times, but when the kingdom was under attack by Mordred? It had sealed Camelot’s fate. Arthur had killed his illegitimate son for the sake of the kingdom, much as it had hurt to do so. But Arthur had been mortally wounded in the process.

Merlin had found him on the battlefield, and had turned as white as any ghost, the only time Arthur had ever seen the wizard truly lose his composure. Merlin had cradled Arthur in his arms and begged him to hold on. 

_ I can fix this, Arthur. _

_ No you can’t, _ Arthur had managed; he’d died of his wounds shortly afterwards, still cradled in Merlin’s shaking arms. As the darkness had crept in, as it had become harder and harder to breathe, Arthur had only hoped that in death he would find peace.

Looking back now, with the benefit of another lifetime’s distance, Draco knew that it had been the overwhelming grief and hurt he had experienced that was responsible for him going gladly to his death. Arthur had been so upset over Guinevere and Lancelot – and over being forced by circumstance to kill his own son, even if Mordred had hated him – that he hadn’t been in his right mind. Looking back now, what had happened still hurt. But Draco could sit back and look at it rationally, in a way Arthur had never been given the time to.

For the first time, he wondered what having Arthur die in his arms had done to Merlin. The wizard had disappeared for good after that, and Draco wondered where Merlin had gone. He hoped that Merlin hadn’t taken his death too hard. 

Merlin had tried to warn him, after all. He’d tried to tell Arthur of Guinevere and Lancelot’s perfidy, before the lovers had been exposed by the other knights, but Arthur had refused to listen. Merlin had never quite liked Guinevere, although Arthur had never been able to work out why. He’d assumed that Merlin’s counsel was simply more of Merlin’s inexplicably dislike… until he’d seen Guinevere and Lancelot in bed together for himself, and realised that Merlin’s information had been correct.

Draco thought back to the early days, when Merlin had been nothing more than the strange man who had told him to try his luck with the sword in the stone. Arthur had done it for a laugh, more than anything; no one had been more surprised than him when the sword had slid free like a knife through butter, and Merlin had proclaimed him the new king. 

Arthur hadn’t even known until then that the odd man was the wizard Merlin, who had been advisor to King Uther. If Arthur had been asked to imagine such a man, he would have pictured someone old and kindly and wise; someone who looked more like Dumbledore, Draco thought, and felt his mouth twist wryly at the thought.

But Merlin, while older than Arthur, had still been far from elderly, with dark hair and the same leaf-green eyes he had now; he hadn’t worn the fancy clothing that most royal advisors wore, but sensible, sturdy robes that made him blend into the crowd; and there had been a mischievous spark in his eyes that had made Arthur assume that he was as amused by the sword-in-the-stone challenge as Arthur himself was. 

Arthur hadn’t expected to be saddled with a _kingdom_ out of the whole lark.

To be fair, Merlin had sworn loyalty to Arthur, and had helped him all the way in reuniting the warring kingdoms under his banner. Merlin had given Arthur advice that he had always tried to follow: Uther had ignored Merlin’s advice, and look what had happened to _him_. 

And Arthur had followed Merlin’s advice, even the stranger parts, right up until Guinevere. That, he thought, was when things had started to go wrong.

With a sigh, Draco wished with all his heart that he’d listened to Merlin, the first time around.

* * *

To Draco’s annoyance, over the next few days, Harry disappeared. Outside of classes, which Harry still attended for appearances’ sake, he was nowhere to be found.

Finally, Draco cornered him in the one class they shared: Potions, the final class of the day. Hermione was already sitting on Harry’s left, so Draco sat to the right of him, and waited until Professor Snape was busy berating Longbottom.

“Where have you _been?_ ” Draco demanded under his breath. “I haven’t seen you for days!”

Harry sent him a vaguely surprised look, as though he’d done nothing out of the ordinary. Which he hadn’t, for Merlin: the wizard had always been prone to coming-and-going at random times. But Draco had gotten used to Harry being around. He was in no mood to let it slide.

Harry smirked a little.

“What, did you miss me?”

Draco rolled his eyes, but said, “Obviously.”

For a second Harry actually looked taken aback. Then he smiled, bright and brilliant, in a way Draco had never seen him do before. To Draco, it felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

While Draco was busy trying to remember how to breathe, Harry said, “I’ve been off repairing my tower. You know, the one in London? I found it – it’s surrounded on all sides by houses, now. You can’t imagine how ridiculous it looks, a great big tower surrounded by all these houses crammed together.”

Draco took a chance.

“You’ll have to show me,” he said.

Harry continued smiling at him.

“Sure, if you want.”

“ _Snape!_ ” Hermione hissed in warning from the other side of Harry, and they busied themselves with their potions just in time, as the teacher turned away from Longbottom to sneer in Harry’s direction.

Harry glanced up from his potion as though sensing the man’s gaze. Without the glasses, his eyes were the most arresting thing about him. They were also very difficult to meet when Harry wore that particular reproving expression. Draco was only a little surprised when Professor Snape swiftly broke eye contact, and turned to yell at Finnegan instead.

After class was over, Draco and Harry and Hermione went their separate ways to put their school things away, before meeting just inside the school gates.

“This is going to feel weird,” said Harry, and tapped his wand over Draco and Hermione’s heads before they could ask _what_ , exactly, was going to feel weird. Harry was right: it felt like someone had cracked an egg open over Draco’s head. Definitely _weird_.

When Draco looked down, he was invisible. When he looked up, so were Harry and Hermione.

“Come on,” said Harry’s voice, bright and cheerful and heading for the school gates. “As soon as we’re beyond the boundaries of the Anti-Apparition Wards, I’ll apparate us out.”

“But Draco said that you can apparate past them,” said Hermione’s voice, somewhere to Draco’s left.

“Well, yes, but it’s not exactly stealthy,” said Harry, as they moved beyond the school gates. “Stand still a second.”

That was all the warning Draco had before Harry’s hand came down on his shoulder, and he apparated them all.

They appeared on a London street with a loud _crack_ , and Hermione made a noise like she was about to be sick. Harry tapped them with his wand, undoing the Disillusionment Charms.

“ _That’s_ Apparation?” Hermione exclaimed, when she could speak. “It’s horrible!”

“Nauseating, but useful,” Draco agreed. “You get used to it.”

“Merlin’s Tower is located in Chantry Street,” said Harry, and suddenly Draco could see the massive stone tower standing in among the crowded houses.

He blinked.

“Come on,” said Harry, dragging Draco and Hermione forward. He seemed excited to be showing them his home. Draco wondered why, as Arthur, he’d never _asked_ where Merlin went off to. He supposed that he’d assumed Merlin would never tell him.

“Was this the only place you went off to, whenever you disappeared?” he asked, letting Harry drag him to the imposing front door.

“Oh, no,” said Harry, pulling out a heavy iron key from one pocket. “Mostly I was all over the place, defending the kingdom from various threats. There was always something going on requiring my attention.”

“Oh.”

“I just didn’t like to bother you with that sort of thing unless it was unavoidable,” Harry added, as he inserted the key into the lock and turned it. There was a heavy _clunk_ , and the door swung open.

Harry walked inside, missing the stricken expression on Draco’s face. After a moment, Draco followed Harry and Hermione inside the tower.

Inside was a large, cosy space. Intricately-carved furniture sat on the floor. Woven tapestries, still as good as new, hung on the walls. The room was lit by several candelabras, which never dripped or ran out of wax to burn. At the far end of the room was a spiral staircase, leading to the next floor.

“Harry,” said Draco, while Hermione was busy looked around. Harry looked back at Draco, his expression curious. “I was the king. It was my job to be bothered with things like that.”

Harry raised one eyebrow.

“You complained repeatedly that I always turned up with bad news.”

“Which wouldn’t have been the case if you’d bothered to show up when there _wasn’t_ some kind of crisis going on!”

Harry blinked.

Draco looked to Hermione for help.

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, “I think that what Draco is trying to say is that you weren’t alone and he could have helped. And that it might have been nice to see you outside of a crisis.”

Harry blinked again.

“Oh,” he said, and then, “Well to be fair, crises were kind of the normal state of things, back then. And usually I was perfectly happy dealing with problems on my own.” He reached out all of a sudden, and clasped Draco’s upper arm. “But thank you, my King. I appreciate the sentiment.”

Harry grinned suddenly.

“Actually, while we’re on the subject of crises…” Harry let go of Draco’s arm, and apparated away. There was a faint _crack_ from upstairs.

Hermione looked at Draco in question.

“Don’t look at me, I have no idea either,” said Draco.

A moment later Harry was back in the room, holding a large wooden chest which happened to be padlocked shut.

“I found one of Tom’s horcruxes, the one stored at Hogwarts,” said Harry, with excessive good cheer. “It was in a room filled with things people had lost or hidden inside the castle. Took me ages to find it – there was a _lot_ of stuff in there.”

He put the chest down, and tapped the padlock with his wand, unlocking it. Harry pulled the padlock off and opened the chest.

Inside sat a simple silver diadem with a sapphire at its centre. Draco could _feel_ the Dark Magic emanating from it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. Also, one of Tom’s horcruxes. Pretty little object, isn’t it?”

Draco and Hermione stared down at the diadem in mute horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand my current rate of posting may slow down a bit from here on...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, it looks like there will be about 12 chapters of this, overall? So six more to go, probably. (Although that may change as I write it.)

** Chapter Six **

Draco broke the horrified silence.

“You, Potter, are the most infuriating person I know.”

“Back to Potter, again?” Harry asked, and moved onto the next question before Draco could answer. “What happened to wanting to help?”

“A little _warning_ would be nice before I’m presented with dark objects containing pieces of the Dark Lord’s soul!”

“I have to agree,” said Hermione in a faint voice.

“Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe as long as you don’t touch it,” said Harry, looking down at the diadem. “But really, don’t touch it.”

“How do we destroy it?” Hermione asked.

“Harry said that basilisk venom worked last time,” said Draco, “or Excalibur might work, but it’s at the bottom of a lake–”

With a _crack_ , Harry apparated away again.

“That,” said Draco, “is going to get irritating.” He raised his voice. “Use the _stairs_ , Harry!”

Harry apparated back into the room.

“Stairs take too long,” he said – but Draco’s attention was on the plain scabbard that Harry was holding, and the hilt of the sword which protruded from it. Decorated with two chimeras, the hilt’s design was unmistakeable.

“Oh,” Hermione breathed out. “Is that…?”

“Excalibur.” Draco looked away from the sword, to Harry’s face. “I thought it was returned to the Lady of the Lake?”

“It was.” Harry put the sword in its scabbard down on the table, not far from the wooden chest. “I visited her on the weekend. Part of the mere’s been turned into a nature reserve these days, and Viviane works there. The other employees have no idea that she’s actually the Lady of the Lake. They all thought I was mad when I turned up at the centre asking for Excalibur.” He laughed. “They were even more surprised when she went _Merlin!_ and gave me a hug.”

Hermione was frowning.

“I thought that the Lady of the Lake… well…”

“Seduced me and then trapped me in a tree?” said Harry, smiling, and Hermione blushed. “The non-magical legends only got some of the stories right, Hermione. Viviane and I are… friends, I suppose. But there was never anything romantic between us, and she certainly didn’t trap me in a tree.”

“I’m relieved to hear that,” said Hermione. “I’m a little surprised to discover that the Lady of the Lake is real, though. What is she, exactly?”

“Viviane is one of the fae,” said Harry. “The lake is actually a portal to her realm. It’s much bigger on the other side.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Wait. The fae are _real?_ ”

“Where did you think house-elves came from?” asked Draco, honestly curious. “They weren’t always bound to wizarding families.”

Hermione’s expression transformed into a fierce scowl.

“I know that they can’t have been, but none of the reputable books in the library will tell me where they came from, or how they came to be enslaved in the first place! The way they’re treated is awful! And no one else in the wizarding world seems to think so!”

“I do,” said Harry, while Draco was still blinking at Hermione’s passionate tirade. 

Hermione’s scowl melted away into a wan smile.

“I know, Harry, and I appreciate your support, but…”

“Elves were part of the fairy realm, originally,” Draco said, since Hermione had expressed her frustration at not knowing these things. “But when they left it, the magic was different here. Binding themselves to a wizarding family helped, somehow. Harry can tell you more about the original compact than I can.”

“Originally, house-elves worked in return for food, board, and a Roman ounce of silver per month,” Harry said, with a nod, only to be interrupted.

“Silver? Why silver?” Hermione asked, before Harry could finish explaining. “And what’s a Roman ounce, precisely?”

“Silver is a magically conductive metal. Good for spells, talismans, that sort of thing. And a Roman ounce, or _uncia_ , is one-twelth of a _libra_ , the Roman pound, which is about… eleven or twelve modern ounces? Somewhere thereabouts. So one Roman ounce would be… a little less than a modern ounce.”

Harry spoke in a calm voice, not at all bothered by Hermione’s questions or the fact that she had interrupted him. But then, Merlin always been a patient teacher, Draco remembered, and he’d once said that passing on knowledge was one of the most rewarding pastimes a person could have. Draco supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised that Harry was so happy to give an explanation.

“How do you know all of that?” Hermione asked. Harry only shrugged.

“The Roman Empire fell only a few centuries before I was born, remember, and bits of Britain were still influenced by Roman culture and society for quite some time after that. I grew up using Roman units of measurement. The first time around, anyway. But I digress.” Harry looked to Draco. “How do you feel about destroying a horcrux?”

“You’re asking _me_ to do it? Why not you?”

“You are the one who wields Excalibur,” said Harry, and his expression was solemn. “You are Arthur, High-King of–”

“Alright, I get the message, you can stop,” Draco said. “It’s my responsibility to destroy the damn thing. I understand.”

Draco reached for where the sword lay on the table, and drew it from its scabbard. The moment he did it burst into fiery radiance, so bright that it was difficult for anyone but the bearer to look upon. Draco heard Hermione gasp at the sight.

When Draco looked over at Harry, the other boy was staring straight into the light surrounding Draco and Excalibur without so much as blinking, an almost wistful expression on his face.

Draco held his gaze for a moment, something wordless and unnamed passing between them. Then he turned, back to the wooden chest with the horcrux in it. He raised his sword arm, ready to strike–

But something was happening. Black mist was seeping out of the diadem, taking on the shape of a human face, with red irises glinting…

“ _Now_ , Draco!” said Harry urgently, and Draco didn’t pause. He stabbed downward with all his strength, which wasn’t all that much; but Excalibur understood his intent, and the sword came down with enough force to break the diadem in two. 

The human face screamed in agony, the sound high and eldritch and enough to make the hairs on the back of Draco’s neck stand on end. The scream seemed to go on forever. But finally the sound died away, and when it did, the black mist dispersed, and the oppressive sensation of nearby Dark Magic was gone.

Draco thanked the sword mentally, knowing that Excalibur would understand, and pulled the sword out of the wooden chest. It had, he discovered, gone right through the diadem and into the chest itself, leaving a splintered hole in the bottom.

“ _Reparo_ ,” said Harry, repairing the chest as Draco sheathed the sword. He glanced at Hermione. “You okay, Hermione?”

Hermione, when Draco looked at her, appeared shaken.

“Sit down,” Draco told her. She looked around for the nearest chair and sank down onto it, her face pale. Draco did the same.

“Well, that was interesting,” said Harry.

“Your definition of interesting leaves a lot to be desired,” said Draco, his voice coming out a little sharper than he meant it to – but _honestly_. Only Harry.

Harry turned to look at him.

“But it _was_ interesting. You’ve just proven that Excalibur is capable of destroying a horcrux. That’s a good thing to know. By the way, I hereby volunteer you as the designated Destroyer of Horcruxes from now on.”

“That’s not how volunteering works,” said Draco, but he didn’t argue. Excalibur had felt _right_ in his hands, as though he had been born for this. And perhaps he had. The stories foretelling his return always said that he’d return in Britain’s time of need, and being in the right place at the right time to stop Voldemort himself from returning to life (and probably from conquering Britain, the way he’d half-done last time) certainly seemed like a time of need. 

Draco yawned, and belatedly realised how tired he was.

“You should probably get us back to the castle,” he said. “Before someone notices our absence.”

Harry sighed, but nodded.

“You’re probably right.” He looked at Hermione, who had been silent. “Everything alright, Hermione?”

Hermione gave a sniffle.

“Hermione?” said Harry, with more urgency this time. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… everything’s changed so fast, and nothing’s going to be the same again, is it?” said Hermione, and she looked like she was about to cry. “Our friendship with Ron – you–”

“No, it’s not,” said Harry in agreement, but his voice was gentler than Draco had expected. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I forgot how bewildering this must all be to you.”

Hermione pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. When she looked up again, her expression was determined.

“You’re still my best friend, Harry. You’re still the boy whose idea it was to rescue me from a troll in first year – the same boy who’s been such a good friend to me. It’s just – you’re so different, since you remembered you were Merlin. Almost like another person. And that’s…” She trailed off, on a quiet sob, and said no more.

Draco, despite how much he wished he was _not here_ for this conversation, couldn’t help but sympathise. Hermione was right about a lot changing, and in such a short space of time – it was almost too much for Draco, sometimes, and he had all of Arthur’s lived experiences. Even if they were being filtered through the emotional responses of a fourteen year old.

He wondered if Harry was having the same difficulty, or if it all really was as easy for him as he made it seem.

“I can’t fix it,” said Harry, still in that gentle voice. “And I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. I _like_ being this version of me. I was never happy with who I was before, you know.”

“I know,” said Hermione, her voice uneven. “And I’m glad you’re happy now, but… I _miss_ you, even though you’re right here in front of me. You must think that sounds ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous at all,” said Harry. 

“And then there’s Ron, as I said,” Hermione went on. “Are you ever going to forgive him?”

“That depends on whether he ever grows up and stops being a prat,” said Harry. “Even if that happens, we’ll never go back to being what we were. Besides yourself, he was the only person I one hundred percent thought would believe me about the Goblet of Fire mess – but he _didn’t_. That _hurt_ , Hermione. I saw him as… well… as the brother I never had, really. Someone I could trust completely. But that trust is gone, and it’s not coming back.” 

“I just wish things could stay the same,” said Hermione, and gave a shaky laugh. “But that’s impossible, isn’t it?”

Harry looked like he understood, better than Hermione knew. 

“It is,” he said. “But it’s human nature to resent change. Even when that change might be necessary.”

Silence fell. Draco felt like he was intruding on the moment as it was, and didn’t want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing. Harry and Hermione both seemed lost in thought. At least Hermione had stopped looking like she was about to cry, even if her expression was now pensive and sad.

“Come on, Harry,” Draco said eventually, because someone really was going to notice them missing from the castle, if they didn’t return soon. “We should get back.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Just let me put Excalibur back. It’s safest here, I think.”

“Safer than Hogwarts? You astound me.”

That got a laugh out of Harry, and he apparated away yet again, to put the sword away. A few moments later he was back. 

“Just so you know,” Harry said casually, “both of you are welcome here any time you like. All I ask is that you leave the top two floors alone - the doors are locked, so please don't open them. They’re private.”

Hermione looked like she dearly wanted to ask _why_ they were private, but was too polite to do so.

Harry produced two keys, identical to the one he’d used to let them into the Tower. 

“Here,” he said, handing one to Hermione and one to Draco. “Your key to the Tower. Don’t lose it.”

“And where are we, exactly?” asked Draco, tucking the key into his pocket. “Some of us can’t apparate yet. We’ll need an address to locate this place if we’re using the Floo.”

“Chantry Street, Islington,” said Harry. “No Floo connection, I’m afraid. But the Knight Bus should get you here. Now let’s get going.” 

Draco allowed Harry to use the Disillusionment Charm on them all again, and thought about the fact that Harry – who in his last life had been so secretive and guarded that even Arthur hadn’t known what was going on with him most of the time – had given them each a key to his _home_. 

Draco wasn’t sure how that made him feel – only that it felt a little like a hard knot in his chest had eased, and that some burden he’d been carrying had finally been let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about house-elves getting silver in return for their work was inspired by the wonderful 'Of a Linear Circle' series by flamethrower, who deals with house-elves in that series (among other things).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but oh well. Hopefully you guys will still enjoy it. 
> 
> Also, a quick poll! I have two possible endings in mind for this fic, and I haven't decided which one to go with. Should I end this fic with:
> 
> 1\. Under the Radar Ending - an ending where Harry and Draco continue with life as normal (for them, anyway), without most people becoming aware of who they were in their past lives;
> 
> OR
> 
> 2\. The Big Reveal Ending - in which the wizarding world becomes aware of Harry and Draco being Merlin and King Arthur?
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments. No promises to go with the majority, but at the moment I'm undecided, and hearing your thoughts on the matter could help me decide which ending to go with. (At the moment I'm leaning towards The Big Reveal Ending, because it's more badass, but I'm not 100% sure yet...)

** Chapter Seven **

****

At breakfast that Saturday, the other Slytherins were all watching Draco. Most of them were subtle about it – aside from Crabbe and Goyle – but with that many eyes on him, it was difficult to avoid noticing their collective gaze.

The rumour that Draco was now _friends_ with Harry Potter, of all people, had gone around the school like wildfire. Since then the other Slytherins had been standoffish, waiting for confirmation one way or another. Draco was only powerful in Slytherin because he had the weight of his Father’s approval behind him, after all. If his Father stopped supporting him… well, that changed everything. So the other Slytherins waited to see what happened next, if the rumours were true: waited to see if the balance of power within Slytherin had shifted.

As one of the Malfoy family owls soared through the Great Hall with a scroll tied to its leg, Draco knew that they were about to find out. 

The other Slytherins watched avidly as Draco untied the scroll and unrolled it, while the owl stole some bacon off Draco’s plate. The letter was more or less what Draco had expected. Someone had told their parents about Draco hanging around with Harry; their parents had told his Father; and now his Father was telling Draco to cease his association with Harry Potter immediately. 

No doubt there would be consequences if Draco did not obey… consequences which would begin with the actions of the other Slytherins, and which would only get worse when his Father discovered Draco’s disobedience. 

For a long moment, Draco considered his options. 

Then he put the scroll down on his empty bread-and-butter plate and deliberately set it on fire.

There were shocked gasps and murmurs from the other students sitting at the Slytherin table. Draco ignored them. No doubt word would get back to his Father quickly enough, and then there would be trouble. But Draco wasn’t about to stop _his association_ with Harry; he wasn’t going to sneak around, to avoid people knowing that they were friends; and he wasn’t going to deny which side of the cultural divide he was now on.

He could have tried. But it would have been difficult, and probably would have blown up in his face at an inopportune time. At least this way, he knew what he was facing – and he didn’t have to pretend he was something he wasn’t.

Of those he usually associated with, Pansy was gaping at Draco in what appeared to be horror, while Blaise was watching Draco with one eyebrow raised.

“That is interesting,” said Blaise. “Has Potter’s self-sacrificial nonsense infected you?”

Draco gave them all the sharpest grin he could. When he was certain that they were all paying attention, he said, “If that’s what you think of him, then you really don’t know him.”

Confusion appeared on several faces, and consideration and calculation on others, as the rest of the Slytherins tried to parse Draco’s statement, looking for hidden implications to his words.

Draco didn’t say anything else. He didn’t want to give too much away about what kind of power Harry had at his disposal. But that remark should be enough to make the more canny Slytherins hesitate before taking action against him or Harry.

Abruptly the other students gazes were tracking something behind Draco. A moment later, Harry himself dropped into the empty seat beside Draco.

“I can’t stay here long, or Snape’ll blow a gasket, but–”

“A what?”

“Never mind. I’m planning on heading down to Hogsmeade later today to meet a friend, and wondered if you wanted to come along. We can meet up in the Entry Hall beforehand.”

Draco blinked, and tried to think who Harry could possibly be meeting. He came up blank.

“Sure.”

“Anyway, nice fire,” Harry added, with a smirk, glancing up at the teachers’ table, and he stood up and jogged back over to the Gryffindor table before Professor Snape could do more than shout “POTTER!” as he noticed Harry at the Slytherin table.

Draco glanced down at the ashes of his Father’s missive, and decided that he wasn’t hungry any more.

The students made their way down to Hogsmeade not long after breakfast. Draco loitered in the Entry Hall until Harry and Hermione made their way over to him. Harry was smiling, one hand tucked into the buttons of his robe. Hermione looked curious. Draco could only suppose that she didn’t know who Harry’s _friend_ was, either.

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, and when Draco nodded, the three of them began the trek down to the wizarding village.

“So who are we meeting?” Draco asked, once their little trio was on their own with no one close enough to overhear.

“I thought you might like to come with me to meet my godfather,” said Harry placidly.

For a second, Draco wondered if he’d misheard.

“I thought your godfather was a vicious mass-murderer?” The _one_ _who betrayed your parents_ went unsaid.

But Harry shook his head.

“He was framed,” said Harry, and he began to explain the story to Draco as they walked down the hillside.

By the time it was over, Draco was shaking his head. Misunderstandings, time travel, useless politicians… 

“Only you could find yourself in the middle of that kind of mess,” Draco said.

“I resent that,” said Harry, but he didn’t sound like he did. “The time-travelling was all Hermione.”

“About that,” said Draco, turning to her. “You used the monumental power of time-travel itself just so you could _attend extra classes_? Why you’re not a Ravenclaw I’ll never understand.”

“Because she’s even braver than she is determined to learn,” said Harry, with a fond smile. 

Hermione had blushed at Draco’s words. At Harry’s, she looked a little sheepish.

“Well, the Hat was originally going to put me in Ravenclaw, to be honest,” she admitted. “But I argued with it.”

“Oh, me too,” said Harry, to Draco’s surprise. Hermione looked surprised as well.   
  


“What do you mean?” asked Hermione. “Which House would you have been in otherwise?”

“Slytherin, of course,” said Harry, as though this was no big thing. “The Hat could sense my potential.”

Draco and Hermione stared at him.

“Slytherin,” said Draco finally. He couldn’t see the Harry he’d known before they got their memories back being a Slytherin, but this Harry, who was very much Merlin? Definitely. “What made you argue with the Hat, then?”

Harry glanced at Draco, something wicked in his eyes.

“You were Sorted there.”

While Draco was spluttering over that, Harry added, unnecessarily: “You didn’t make the best first impression. Or second, for that matter.”

“ _Harry_ ,” said Hermione, in reprimand.

“What? It’s true.” Harry glanced at Draco again, with the suggestion of a grin playing around his mouth. “Fortunately, he’s not so much of a prat as he used to be.”

“Oh, as though you have room to talk,” Draco snapped. He wasn’t sure how he felt. One the one hand, it was bizarrely flattering to know that he’d made such an impression, even if it was a negative one. 

But mostly, he just felt _hurt_ that Harry had disliked him so much that he’d argued his way out of his correct House placement, in order to get away from Draco.

Harry seemed to notice, because his demeanour turned serious.

“Draco,” he said. “My _King_. You do know that you’re the most important person in this world to me, don’t you?”

Draco felt his own eyes blow wide, and his breath leave him in a shocked exhalation. He was lost for words.

Harry snorted at Draco’s stunned expression.

“And it’s not just obligation. I do actually like you. Even if you complain a lot.”

Draco wasn’t sure how to respond. Somehow, Harry had managed to hit him right at his most vulnerable point. Because people didn’t usually _like_ Draco – they put up with him, or allied with him because of his Father, or – or some other reason. 

But there was no hint of guile in Harry’s eyes, and Draco knew Merlin well enough to know that he didn’t say such things lightly, and never had.

“I like you, too,” Draco eventually said, trying to hide how exposed he felt. “Despite the fact that you’re more annoying than any other person on Earth.”

“It’s part of my charm,” said Harry flippantly. 

“Oh, _honestly_ ,” Hermione said, with a huff. “What is it about boys that you can’t talk about feelings without insulting each other?”

Harry only laughed. Draco didn’t try to explain that the insults were an attempt to make himself feel less vulnerable.

“Anyway, I’m not the most annoying person on Earth,” said Harry. “That’s Dumbledore.”

Draco felt his lips twitch.

“What did he do?” asked Hermione. 

“Oh, he called me into his office and asked how I was doing,” said Harry.

“And?” 

“I told him that I was doing surprisingly well, for someone whose scar is a horcrux.”

“ _What?_ ” Draco and Hermione chorused.

“Only joking,” said Harry, and he grinned. 

“I take back what I said about liking you. You’re terrible,” said Draco.

“I told him I was finding solace in my friends,” Harry went on. “He nodded, and went on about how friends were a person’s true strength, or something. I wasn’t really listening.”

Draco completely doubted that. 

“Anyway,” Harry added, changing the subject. He glanced around to make sure no one was around to eavesdrop, and lowered his voice. “Sirius asked me to meet him at a cave outside Hogsmeade, so that’s where we’re going.”

“Does he know about – anything?” Hermione asked, _anything_ clearly meaning Harry and Draco and their status as figures from legend.

“Nope,” said Harry cheerfully. “He’s completely in the dark. Come to think of it, I probably should have told him that Draco’s one of the good guys, now. Oh well, a bit late now.”

“How very reassuring,” Draco drawled. “Are you sure he won’t curse me on sight? He and my Father never got along.”

“Not at all,” was Harry’s far-from-comforting answer. “But I can intercept anything he tries to throw at you.”

Draco wasn’t exactly happy with that response, but decided to trust Harry. He’d seen Merlin take on far worse than an escaped convict, after all.

The mouth of a cave soon came into sight, and Harry and Draco and Hermione headed towards it. As they did, a large, rather scruffy looking dog appeared near the cave entrance.

“Hello, Sirius,” said Harry, breaking into a grin.

“Wait, he’s an animagus?” Draco blurted out in surprise. 

The dog looked at him, and let out a curious bark.

“Oh, that’s Draco,” said Harry. “He’s Lucius Malfoy’s son.”

The dog growled, rather threateningly.

“Stop that at once,” said Harry, going aloof and stern. “I trust him. Draco is _not_ his father.”

Suddenly the dog was a man in ragged grey robes. He looked terrible. 

“If he tells anyone…” said Sirius Black, holding his wand in way that had Draco on-edge.

Harry’s eyes flashed. 

“You will do _nothing_ to him,” said Harry, with such ferocity that Sirius actually took a startled step back. “To harm Draco in any way is to put yourself at the top of my _To Utterly Destroy List.”_

“Your what?” Sirius looked flummoxed.

“You have a list?” Draco asked Harry.

“It’s in my tower,” said Harry, still fixing Sirius with a look of distant fury. “Right now Voldemort is at the top of it.”

Sirius was still staring at Harry and Draco, but now he looked perplexed.

“I thought you two were enemies,” he said slowly. 

“The last time you were at Hogwarts, maybe,” said Harry. “But… well, a lot has happened.”

Sirius seemed to come to a decision.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll trust your judgement.”

“Great,” said Harry, with sarcasm. “Can we get out of sight before someone sees you, now?”

Sirius nodded, and turned and walked towards the cave. Harry, Draco, and Hermione followed.

There was a hippogriff tethered in the cave, and Harry’s eyes lit up at the sight of it.

“Buckbeak!”

But the hippogriff was looking at Draco. It gave a screech.

“None of that, now,” said Harry. “Draco was an idiot to disrespect you, but he knows better now. Don’t you, Draco?”

Draco hurriedly sank into a low bow.

“You have my utmost respect,” he assured the hippogriff. 

The hippogriff eyed him for a moment, then bowed in return. Harry promptly scratched its head, making it close its eyes in pleasure.

Draco found himself being regarded by Sirius. The man was horribly thin, and his hair was matted and greasy. 

“When did you last eat?” Hermione asked, beating Draco to it.

Sirius only shrugged.

“Harry, you should ask Dobby if he can bring your godfather some food from the castle,” said Draco, getting Harry’s attention. The other boy turned to look at Sirius.

“Good idea. _Dobby!_ ”

There was a pop, and Dobby was there, his back to Sirius.

“Yes, Merlin sir?” he said brightly.

“ _What_ ,” said Sirius.

Dobby spun around, noticed Sirius for the first time, and looked horrified at his slip.

“Dobby has betrayed sir’s secrets!” he said, and began hitting his head against the wall of the cave. “Dobby will–”

“Dobby, stop!” said Harry, looking exasperated. Dobby looked at Harry, his expression still horrified. “Don’t worry about it, alright? Sirius is my godfather. I’d like him to know.”

“Merlin sir doesn’t mind?” Dobby asked, looking hopeful.

“Not at all,” said Harry. “Now, can you bring him some food, please? He hasn’t had a proper meal in a while.”

“Of course, Merlin sir!” Dobby beamed at Harry, his distress forgotten, and popped away. There was a long moment of tense silence.

“ _Merlin sir?_ ” said Sirius carefully.

For just a second, Harry looked _dangerous_. Draco wasn’t sure why – perhaps it was the narrow-eyed look of calculation, or the way he was standing. But a second later Harry was smiling again, rather ruefully, and the dangerous look was gone.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m Merlin. Draco is Arthur.”

“ _King_ Arthur?” Sirius persisted, looking incredulous.

“That’s right,” said Draco. 

“Prove it,” said Sirius.

Harry tilted his head in thought.

“Would Excalibur be enough to convince you?”

“Sure,” said Sirius, still looking disbelieving. Harry immediately apparated away. Sirius gave a start as Harry vanished.

“How in Merlin’s name did he just _apparate?_ He’s fourteen!”

“Because he’s Merlin,” said Hermione. “You don’t believe him at all, do you?”

“Not really,” said Sirius. He looked at Draco. “You don’t exactly look like a mighty king out of legend,” he said.

“I’m _fourteen_ ,” Draco pointed out, just as Harry apparated back into the cave, holding Excalibur in its scabbard.

“Here,” said Harry, handing it to Draco. Draco took it gladly, and drew it.

As like last time, the sword lit with a brilliant light. However, there was one new addition.

“ _All hail Arthur, the Once and Future King!”_ shouted a mighty chorus of unearthly, disembodied voices. “ _Hail!”_

Draco sheathed the sword, and the effects stopped. 

Sirius looked wide-eyed. Harry looked casually smug.

“You’re Merlin,” said Sirius slowly, but like he believed it, this time. “And you’re King Arthur.”

“You can’t tell Dumbledore,” said Harry.

“Why not?” asked Sirius. “He’s–”

“Plotting my death,” said Harry, and Sirius went, “ _Explain_.”

So Harry did – about being reincarnated, about Voldemort and his horcruxes, and about his and Draco’s quest to destroy them before the Dark Lord could return. Dobby popped in halfway through with food, before popping out again. Harry went on explaining. And, finally–

“There’s no way Dumbledore could have missed the significance of my scar,” said Harry. “Not after knowing about the horcrux in my second year. There is no way for ordinary mortals to remove a horcrux from a living being, and Dumbledore, for all his status, is entirely mortal. No doubt he believes that to destroy Voldemort for good, I must die.”

Sirius was pale. Hermione looked distressed, and Draco felt much the same way. Only Harry appeared composed.

“I – you’re sure?” Sirius asked desperately. “You might be wrong–”

“I’m not.”

“He never is,” said Draco. “Trust me.”

Sirius put his head in his hands.

“Do you see now why you can’t tell anyone?” asked Harry.

Sirius nodded. He looked like he wanted to be sick.

“Can you – can you remove it?”

“Yes,” said Harry, and Sirius gave a sigh of relief.

“Well, that’s something,” he said, and then, “I can help–”

“No,” said Harry with finality.

“Why not?” Sirius demanded.

“Because you still think of me as a child,” said Harry, painfully blunt, “and because you’re still unstable from Azkaban.”

Sirius looked like he’d been slapped.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Harry continued. “I appreciate your concern. But if you get involved, you’re going to get either yourself or someone else killed.”

Sirius didn’t look happy, but at the look Harry shot him, imposing and full of command, he stopped arguing.

“I can help you with one thing, at least,” Sirius said. “I know one of the locations you mentioned. Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. I can get you in.”

“How?” asked Draco.

Sirius gave a rusty, bitter laugh.

“Technically, it’s my home.”

“Well,” said Harry. “Isn’t that convenient?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still taking in people's thoughts on which ending to go with, so feel free to comment on the matter!
> 
> Warning: I'm not very nice to Sirius, in this chapter. I like him, I do, but... well, you'll see.
> 
> Also, this chapter may have errors, as I'm tired. That said, the end of it should be exciting!

** Chapter Eight **

In the end, the group decided that they would meet up and go after the horcrux at the Black family home the next day. Once that decision was made, Harry sat back and looked at Sirius.

“I have a question for you,” said Harry, and his voice was light and breezy in a way that made Draco tense in recognition. It was the voice Merlin had always used to lull his opponents into a false sense of safety right before he went after them with extreme prejudice. “Last year, Professor Lupin told us that when you were in fifth year, you told Snape where he went to transform into werewolf form every month, and that Snape tried to follow him and was nearly killed. I wanted to ask _why_.”

_ Oh. Oh _ _shit_ , Draco thought.

“Well, Snape was a complete tosser, wasn’t he?” said Sirius, who apparently didn’t know Harry well enough to recognise the significance of The Voice. “Always sticking his hooked nose into other people’s business, sneaking around, trying to get us into trouble. I thought it’d be a bit of a laugh.”

Draco stared at Sirius in horror. Logically, he could recognise that there was a time that he himself would have laughed at the idea of his arch-enemy getting killed by a werewolf. But since then he’d gained some understanding of the reality of death. The idea of tricking someone into getting themselves killed by a werewolf wasn’t _funny_. It was _horrifying_. The fact that Sirius, a grown man, was incapable of seeing that his own actions would have counted as _murder_ didn’t speak well for him.

“You thought it would be a bit of a laugh,” Harry repeated, with no inflection in his voice. 

“Well, you know – the idea of Snape getting done in by his own curiosity,” Sirius explained, grinning. “Ironic, don’t you think?”

Harry just looked at him. Sirius blinked back at Harry, apparently unaware of how appalling his words were. Hermione was staring at Sirius as well, looking as horrified as Draco felt.

“I see. Thank you for answering my question,” said Harry, his voice cool.

“I’m always happy to answer your questions,” said Sirius, smiling a little. 

After that, Harry made his excuses, and he and Draco and Hermione left the cave, heading back to Hogsmeade.

“Your godfather tried to feed Professor Snape to Professor Lupin?!” Draco blurted out, as soon as they were out of earshot. “And he doesn’t even realise that’s called _murder?_!”

Harry’s expression was grim.

“Apparently not. That little speech of his was… enlightening.”

“I can’t believe that he thought getting someone killed would be _funny_ ,” said Hermione.

“And that he still thinks it’s funny,” Draco added. “He’s a grown man, not a schoolboy. It’s horrifying. He’s dangerous.”

“I know,” said Harry, still looking grim. “Both of you, be careful when dealing with him. I think that in his mind you’re on the right side, so he’d probably be dismayed at the idea of hurting you… but he broke Ron’s leg last year, trying to get to Pettigrew, so clearly collateral damage won’t stop him if he thinks he needs to do something. I meant it when I said he was unstable.”

“But you’re still going to get him to take you to the Black family home, aren’t you?” asked Hermione. 

“I am,” said Harry. “But I’m Merlin himself, and Draco will have Excalibur, so between us we should be able to deal with Sirius if things go badly.” Harry eyed Hermione. “I won’t be taking you with us. You’re fourteen, and you don’t have either the skills or knowledge to defend yourself against either a grown wizard, or a horcrux. If anything happened to you I would never forgive myself.”

It became clear, during the resulting argument, that Harry wasn’t going to budge. Hermione took it with a bad grace. The walk back to Hogsmeade was silent, the atmosphere between them chilly and tense. 

Hermione stormed off as soon as they were back at the village, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

The two of them ended up getting a butterbeer each at Madam Rosmerta’s, on the grounds that it was cleaner than the Hog’s Head was, and sat at a table in the very back.

“I kind of expected you to tear Sirius apart for what he said,” said Draco in a quiet voice, amid the noise of a dozen different conversations being carried on at once. “But you didn’t.”

Harry hesitated.

“Well, he spent twelve years in Azkaban,” he said finally. “That’s surely enough of a punishment for anyone. Besides… he’s…”

“He’s what?”

“He’s devoted to me,” said Harry softly. “And maybe it’s just the idea of me, but that’s still more care and concern than I’m used to. The first time we met, he was willing to offer me a home, just like that – to take on the responsibility of parenting a thirteen year old boy. To be sure, he would have made a terrible parent, but… it meant a lot to me that he was willing to do that. If he crosses a line, I’ll let him know, no fear, but… until then, I’ll treat him with reasonable courtesy. Play along with the idea that’s he’s a favourite uncle, or something.”

“But you don’t trust him?” Draco persisted.

“Of course not,” said Harry, and Draco had to be content with that.

“Harry!” said a voice, and Draco looked up to see one of the Patils, the Gryffindor one, standing there alongside the Brown girl. “I heard that you and Malfoy had mended fences. It’s true, then?”

“It is,” said Harry. “Why do you ask?”

The two girls giggled, and sent darting glances between Harry and Draco, clearly bursting to discover the latest piece of potential gossip material. 

“Well, we were wondering – because you’re here at Madam Rosmerta’s _together,_ and Hermione usually goes everywhere with you – are the two of you, you know, _dating?_ ”

Draco accidentally spat butterbeer all over the table. Harry opened his mouth to speak, grinning.

“ _No_ ,” said Draco, before Harry could get a word in. “We’re not.”

“Are you sure?” asked Brown. “You don’t have to be ashamed of it, if you are–”

“Sadly, ladies, Draco has yet to fully appreciate my charms,” said Harry cheerfully – but there was an undercurrent of _something_ in his voice that made Draco stare at him. “So no, we’re definitely not dating.”

“Definitely not,” Draco added. The very idea of it was…

..troubling, but Draco wasn’t sure exactly why. If it had been anyone else that he’d been accused of dating, Draco would have just made a face and made a scathing remark… but it wasn’t, it was _Harry_ , and the thought made him think…

Draco cut off that thought before it was even finished. But his brain wasn’t done. It insisted on pointing out the odd note in Harry’s voice when he’d said _Draco has yet to fully appreciate my charms_ , as though Harry wasn’t entirely happy with that fact.

Draco stared into his butterbeer as the two girls returned to sit with their other friends, feeling shaken to the core. Merlin had always been devoted to his king, of course – _but_ – what if it was something _more_ than that?

_ Would that be a bad thing? _ an unwanted voice in Draco’s brain asked, and Draco swallowed, because yes, he knew that he found Harry attractive – and Harry was definitely the closest friend he had, now – but the idea of _dating him_ … _?_

It… at second glance, the idea was… not as ludicrous as Draco had originally thought.

In fact, it wasn’t ludicrous at all.

“Earth to Draco,” a voice interrupted Draco’s musings, and he looked up to meet Harry’s eyes. The other boy was looking at him curiously. “Everything all right, Draco?”

“Fine,” said Draco, as normally as possible. “Listen, I just remembered – I have an essay to finish, so…”

Harry sighed theatrically.

“But essays are so boring. We could do something interesting, instead.”

“I’ll see you later,” said Draco firmly, getting up from the table. 

“I’ll come find you tomorrow,” said Harry cheerfully. Draco bid him goodbye, and fled, leaving Harry behind to finish his butterbeer.

Draco’s mind was in a whirl as he walked back up to the castle. He didn’t know exactly how he felt, but… he couldn’t get the idea of dating Harry out of his head, now that Patil and Brown had put it there. But what if Harry wasn’t interested? Even if he was kind about it, being rejected would be crushing – and what if, instead of being kind, he laughed at Draco – or seemed disgusted by the very idea?

Merlin, to his knowledge, had never been romantically involved with anyone – Arthur had never known if that was simply because he was discreet, or if Merlin had genuinely not had any kind of fling-slash-relationship in all the time Arthur had known him. Draco suddenly, desperately wanted to know the answer – but there was no easy way to ask.

Shaking his head, Draco gave a groan.

He was in deep trouble, and he knew it.

* * *

That night at dinner, everyone was talking about some kind of ball.

“What?” asked Draco. “What ball?”

“Apparently there’s a Yule Ball being this year, because of the Tournament,” said Blaise, taking pity on him. “The Ravenclaws were all told this morning, and well, word spread quickly. It’s open to anyone fourth year and up.”

Pansy sniffed and put her nose in the air.

“Although who would want to go with _you_ , I don’t know,” she said pointedly.

A ball. Of course. It was like the universe was trying to send Draco a message. He thought about it all through dinner, and then all the way back to his dorm room. Part of him wanted to ask Harry – it would be unorthodox, but male couples weren’t completely unheard of at these kinds of events – but the rest of him was terrified by the very idea.

_ Some king I am _ , Draco thought, and rounded a corner – 

“ _Accio_ Malfoy’s wand!” someone called out, and Draco’s wand shot out of his robe pocket. Draco looked up.

“Hello, blood-traitor,” said one of the group of older Slytherins standing in front of him, with a nasty grin. The group had clearly been lying in wait for him. 

Draco mentally kicked himself for being so lost in thought that he’d let his guard down. But he’d been in this situation before, he knew – or Arthur had – there had been an incantation –

Draco let out a string of syllables from an ancient Welsh dialect. The name _Myrddin_ was amongst them. That name was recognisable to any wizard who spoke Welsh, even modern Welsh, and one of the older Slytherins let out a laugh.

“Did you seriously just try to summon _Merlin?_ ” Ianto Davies asked. “You can’t actually–”

There was an ear-splitting _KRAKATHOOM_ , which Draco recognised as the sound of someone apparating past powerful Anti-Apparition Wards, and then Harry was suddenly standing in between Draco and his attackers. 

Harry took in the situation at a glance. His eyes lit with green fire, and then–

“ _Mustela!_ ”

The next moment, Draco’s attackers were gone. They had been replaced with half a dozen, bright purple weasels.

Draco let out a relieved breath, while the weasels let out cries of alarm and confusion.

“Purple weasels, Harry?”

But Harry didn’t respond, glaring down at the weasels, and Draco realised with a start of surprise that Harry was actually, genuinely angry.

“Is that your wand?” Harry asked, his voice clipped. Draco looked down at where his wand had fallen, when the leader of the group had dropped it upon his transformation into a weasel.

Draco bent and picked it up.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked.

“I’m fine.” Draco watched as the weasels took off down the corridor. “I just… wasn’t expecting an ambush.”

Harry looked at him, his eyes still lit with green fire, and something in Draco felt warm at the thought that Harry had that look over _him_.

“Are you going to the Yule Ball?” Draco blurted out, before he could think about it.

Harry blinked and raised one eyebrow.

“I’m one of the Champions,” he said dryly. “I’m obligated.”

“I know _that_. I’m asking if you have a date yet.”

“I do, actually,” said Harry, and Draco’s heart sank into his shoes. “Some third year girl asked me. Luna… Lovegood, I think her name is? Anyway, she seemed nice enough, so I agreed.”

“Oh,” said Draco. A moment later he asked, “I thought that only fourth years could go?”

“Unless they’re going with an older student,” Harry corrected. He looked at Draco curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” said Draco. “No reason at all.” He forced a smile. “Thanks for the rescue, Harry.”

“Any time,” said Harry seriously. “Do you want me to walk you back to your common room?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Draco. 

“Draco,” said Harry slowly, “is everything okay?”

“Fine,” said Draco. “Everything is just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Draco finally has a clue... ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voting for the ending is now closed. I have made a decision. Thank you all of you for your input!

** Chapter Nine **

The next day Draco and Harry met up with Sirius, who apparated them all to number twelve, Grimmauld Place. It turned out to be a tall townhouse in a row of identical townhouses. Harry had his wand out, and Draco was wearing the scabbard holding Excalibur. Harry had brought it to him before they met up with Sirius.

“Do you have a key?” Harry asked. Sirius shook his head.

“No – but the wards should recognise me.” He stepped up to the front door, and spoke in a voice of command. “I, Sirius Arcturus Black, command that you _open!_ ”

A moment later the lock clicked, and the door swung silently open. Sirius stepped inside. Harry and Draco followed.

Draco tried to keep his mind on their current task, rather than letting it wander. But he kept thinking about the night before, and wondering if Harry realised that Draco had almost asked him to the Yule Ball. He sent a surreptitious glance Harry’s way, but the other wizard wasn’t looking at him: instead, Harry’s gaze was roving over the gloomy hallway, his wand raised in case of trouble.

Draco let one hand drift to the hilt of Excalibur, the other tightly gripping his wand, and tried to focus on the current situation.

_ Something _ threw itself at Sirius with a yell, and he dodged. 

“Kreacher! Stop! Don’t attack any of us!” said Sirius sharply, and Draco realised that the attacker was an elderly, ill-looking house-elf.

“Kreacher won’t obey Bad Master!” the house-elf shouted; but he came to a halt, and didn’t try to attack Sirius again, glowering up at him instead.

“Sirius, who is this?” asked Harry.

“Oh, that’s just Kreacher,” said Sirius carelessly. “Dear old Mum’s house-elf… I’m surprised he’s even alive… I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gone a bit funny, after all these years alone…”

Sirius walked on, but Harry knelt next to Kreacher.

“Kreacher, do you know who I am?” Harry asked, green eyes boring into pale blue ones. Kreacher looked at him, and his eyes widened.

“Youse be Merlin-Friend-To-Elves.”

“That’s right.” Harry gave the elf a kind smile. It was clear he didn’t expect Kreacher to grab hold of his shoulder and stare up at him imploringly.

“Merlin is being a Great Wizard, say the stories. Will Merlin-Friend-To-Elves help Kreacher?”

“What do you need, Kreacher?”

“Ignore him, Harry!” Sirius’ voice called back from further inside the house. “He probably wants help poisoning muggleborns, or something.”

Kreacher muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath.

“Kreacher?” Harry asked again. “What do you need?”

“It was Master Regulus,” said Kreacher, his hands twisting in the rags he wore. “He was telling Kreacher to destroy it, but Kreacher has tried, and he can’t!”

“Destroy what?” Harry asked. Kreacher didn’t answer. “Show me, Kreacher.”

“Harry,” said Sirius, coming back down the hallway, “I don’t think that’s a good idea–”

But the house-elf was shuffling down the hallway, and Harry was following, ignoring Sirius’ advice. Draco followed the both of them.

Sirius swore quietly behind him, and did the same.

Draco found himself following Harry into an old-fashioned kitchen. There was an open cupboard across the other side of the room, filled with a pile of dirty sheets and some odds-and-ends. Kreacher made a beeline for it.

He pulled out a locket embossed with a stylised _S_ , and Draco sucked in a breath. He couldn’t feel the locket’s magic, but he had no doubt of what it was.

“Slytherin’s locket,” said Harry quietly. “How did Master Regulus get hold of this, Kreacher?”

“Master Regulus turned against the Dark Lord,” said Kreacher, and Sirius made a startled, pained sound. “He be saying the Dark Lord is not what he thought, and was searching for his treasures. Master Regulus is finding them, and is telling Kreacher to swap the locket and destroy it, but – but –” Kreacher’s eyes filled with tears. “The cave is being filled with inferi, and Master Regulus –” Kreacher gave a sob.

“It’s alright, Kreacher,” said Harry. “I can guess what happened. You don’t need to tell me.”

Kreacher grabbed hold of Harry’s arm again.

“Is Merlin-Friend-To-Elves able to destroy the locket?” he asked urgently.

“You see my friend over there?” said Harry, nodding in Draco’s direction. “He’s King Arthur, just as I am Merlin. He brought Excalibur with him, and there’s nothing that can’t be defeated with Excalibur. So why don’t you put the locket down and we can destroy it?”

Kreacher put the locket down. But there was a sudden swell of Dark Magic and the locket snapped open. A red eye looked out of the locket, fixing its gaze on Harry, and a misty black shape began to coalesce above the locket…

Draco drew Excalibur and swung it downwards.

As with the destruction of the last horcrux, there was a long, unearthly scream. When it was done, the locket lay on the flagstones, broken into pieces. 

Kreacher burst into tears and hugged Draco’s legs, thanking him over and over again. For the next several minutes, Draco was busy trying to sheathe the sword while he had a house-elf clinging to him, and crying all over him. By the time he’d calmed Kreacher down enough for the house-elf to let go of him, Harry was sitting on the nearest bench, watching him thoughtfully, and Sirius was staring at Kreacher like he’d never seen him before.

“Merlin-Friend-To-Elves and King Arthur are just as great as in the stories!” Kreacher said tearfully. “Kreacher is wishing he could leave Bad Master and work for Great Wizard and his King.”

Harry looked at Draco. There was no mistaking what that look meant.

Draco sighed.

“Sirius, would you mind giving Kreacher to me?”

Sirius’ mouth twisted. He looked like he didn’t know what to think.

“Kreacher,” he said finally. “Would you be happier with Draco?”

“Draco?” Kreacher repeated, sounding confused.

“That’s me,” said Draco. “My name in this life is Draco Malfoy.”

He didn’t expect the house-elf’s eyes to light up.

“Cissy’s son?” Kreacher asked eagerly. “Cissy’s son is being King Arthur?”

“I am,” said Draco, even though it felt weird to hear his Mother described as _Cissy_. “But I don’t believe in traditional pureblood ideals – I think that muggleborns are our equals in magic, and I don’t like hearing them insulted.” 

Kreacher considered that.

“Kreacher is still wanting to work for Draco sir,” he said finally. “Draco sir is a Black through his mother. Kreacher wants to work for a Black who is not Bad Master.”

Draco looked back at Sirius.

“Fine,” said Sirius. “I never liked him much, anyway. But Kreacher…” Sirius hesitated. “Regulus would be proud of you,” he said shortly.

That made Kreacher burst into tears a second time. It took a while for him to calm down again. Once he had, Sirius and Draco went about transferring Kreacher’s bond of service from Sirius to Draco.

It didn’t take all that long. Draco found his legs being hugged again.

“Where is Draco sir wanting Kreacher to go?” Kreacher asked.

Draco blinked.

“Not Malfoy Manor,” he said firmly, and saw Harry nod in agreement. “Things between me and my family are… not brilliant, and they’re likely to get worse.”

Sirius, who had been eyeing him, spoke up.

“Decided to turn your back on all the pureblood rubbish your parents filled your head with, then?” There was approval in his voice. “You’re welcome to stay here over the holidays, if you need a place. Merlin knows I don’t want it.” Sirius looked around, his nose wrinkling. “Although it needs some work to be habitable.”

Draco blinked at the offer.

“Thank you,” he said, “but I’m already planning… other arrangements.” He carefully didn’t mention the existence of Merlin’s Tower. He hadn’t actually _asked_ Harry, yet, if he could spend the holidays there, but he didn’t think Harry would mind. “It was kind of you to offer.”

“You’re friends with Harry,” said Sirius, shrugging. “Not to mention the second coming of King Arthur himself. It’s hard to get more trustworthy than that. And I know what it’s like to be aligned with the light when you come from a dark family. I was just lucky James’ parents took me in when mine disowned me.” His smile was fondly nostalgic.

“Kreacher could go to Hogwarts, for the moment,” said Harry. “I know Dobby lives there most of the time. The Hogwarts elves don’t seem to mind. Kreacher, would you be alright living at Hogwarts until Draco can sort something out? My friend Dobby would be happy to help you, if I asked. He’s a house-elf, too.”

Kreacher nodded, and so Harry called Dobby, and introduced the two house-elves. They looked at one another curiously, Dobby taking in Kreacher’s rags and haggard appearance, Kreacher staring at the mishmash of clothing Dobby wore.

“You is free elf?” Kreacher sounded disapproving. Dobby bristled.

“Dobby is a free elf like his ancestors who were friends with Merlin sir!” he said indignantly.“Dobby is not ashamed!”

Kreacher looked him up and down, and sniffed, but said grudgingly, “To work for Merlin-Who-Is-Friend-To-Elves is being a great honour.”

“Dobby agrees,” said Dobby, bouncing up and down on his toes. 

“Well, now that’s settled…” said Harry, looking amused. “Dobby, are you willing to find a place at Hogwarts for Kreacher?”

“Dobby is happy to help Merlin sir. Dobby is thinking Hogwarts elves won’t mind King Arthur’s elf being in Hogwarts, too.”

“Excellent,” said Harry.

“Right. Kreacher?” said Draco. “Go with Dobby, please. I’ll call you when I need you.”

Kreacher nodded, and both house-elves popped away.

“Well, that’s another horcrux destroyed,” said Harry, into the silence. “Sirius, thank you for your help. Draco and I should probably be getting back to Hogwarts before anyone realised we’re gone.”

“Of course,” said Sirius. He looked pensive. “Any time you want my help, Harry, you need only ask.”

Harry and Draco said their goodbyes. After returning Excalibur to the Tower, Harry apparated himself and Draco to just outside the gates of Hogwarts so that they could sneak back onto school grounds.

Draco sent Harry a sideways glance, thinking of their discussion the previous night. But Harry was looking at the path ahead of them, and didn’t seem to notice Draco looking at him.

“Your date to the Yule Ball,” said Draco abruptly. “Is she pretty?”

Harry thought about it.

“I suppose so,” he said vaguely. That wasn’t a particularly comforting response, Draco thought – but at least it hadn’t been a vehement _yes_. 

Draco sighed, and let the subject drop. He’d find out for himself, soon enough.

The thought wasn’t a cheerful one.

* * *

The next couple of weeks were busy. For some reason, the teachers were piling on the homework assignments, which meant that Draco mostly saw Harry and Hermione during study sessions in the library. Harry himself didn’t have much to do – champions were excused from homework, or something – besides work out the clue given by the golden egg from the first task.

“Oh, I worked that out ages ago,” Harry said, when Hermione asked about it.

“You what?” said Draco, glancing up from his Potions essay. 

Draco had managed to go back to acting normally around Harry. He still had feelings for him, but it was easier to pretend that nothing had changed when Harry gave no sign of realising that a change had occurred. 

Harry was still as… protective as ever, but whether it was only the protectiveness of a loyal subject for their king, or an entirely different kind of protectiveness, Draco had no clue. It was driving him up the wall.

In response to Draco’s question, Harry began reciting a poem.

“ _Come seek us where our voices sound,_ _We cannot sing above the ground,_ _And while you're searching ponder this:_ _We've taken what you'll sorely miss._ _An hour long you'll have to look,_ _And to recover what we took,_ _But past an hour, the prospect's black;_ _Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.”_

Harry stopped reciting, and shrugged. 

“That’s the translation. I assume that this task takes place in the lake. It also wouldn’t surprise me if the _what I’ll sorely miss_ is one of you two, so you should be prepared for that.”

“Which means it’s going to be Draco,” said Hermione.

“It could be you…” Harry began. But Hermione tutted.

“Harry, we both know that if the organisers of the second task have been paying any attention to you _at all_ , it isn’t going to be me.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped.

“I know. Sorry, Hermione.”

But Hermione just smiled knowingly, with only a hint of pain in her expression.

“I know – your devotion to your _king_ overrides everything.”

“Exactly,” said Harry a little too firmly, and went back to his book. It was a heavy tome with an embossed cover, and it didn’t look at all the sort of thing that Harry Potter would like to read. Merlin, on the other hand…

“What are you reading?” Draco asked, eyeing the thickness of the book. “Magical theory?”

“Nope – _Le Morte D’Arthur_ ,” said Harry, and he glanced up with a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“ _Le Morte_ – wait, are you reading about _my death?”_ Draco demanded, because French was his second language and he could put two and two together.

“And your life,” said Harry, turning to the next page. “It’s fascinating, seeing how often the muggles write about us. I’ve already built up quite a library.”

Hermione put a hand over her mouth to cover a laugh.

“Are you telling me,” asked Draco, “that you’ve been collecting books about _us?_ ”

“The more popular ones, sure,” said Harry. He was smirking. “And believe me, there are a lot. Most of them are fictional retellings of our lives.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think my favourite has to be _The Sword in The Stone_.”

“Ooh, I used to have the Disney adaptation of that on VHS,” said Hermione. “It was one of my favourites as a child. Somehow I never got around to reading the book, though.” Her brow furrowed. “I think I still have the film. You’re welcome to visit during the holidays and watch it with me, if you like.”

Harry looked suddenly gleeful.

“I’ve never seen it, but if it’s anything like the book… Well! That settles it – we can watch it over the holidays. Including you, Draco.”

“What? You must be joking,” said Draco, but Harry didn’t look deterred in the slightest.

“It’ll be educational,” said Harry. “You can learn what muggles think of wizards.” He was grinning.

Draco wanted to say no. He did. But Harry looked like he was genuinely looking forward to the idea, and the protest died on Draco’s lips.

“What’s a VHS?” he asked instead.

“A VHS tape,” said Hermione. “It’s a recording of… I suppose the best description is _moving pictures_ , which tell a story, and which are accompanied by recorded voices.”

That didn’t sound so bad, really. How terrible could the experience be?

“Fine,” said Draco. “We can do that in the holidays. But for now, I really need to finish this essay.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged conspiratorial smiles. Draco ignored them both.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any errors in the Latin used in this fic.

**Chapter Ten**

Christmas soon rolled around. This year, almost everyone who was a fourth year or older was staying at the castle over the break, in order to attend the Yule Ball. Draco was relieved to have an excuse not to go home. He’d been receiving increasingly angry letters from his Father, all of which he’d ignored – something he’d never done before. Draco just hoped that his Father didn’t get angry enough to actually visit the school.

At least the other Slytherins left him alone, now. There were cutting comments, but no one dared do more than that; a week or so ago the missing Slytherins had been identified as the group of purple weasels which had been found running around the castle. None of the professors could tell who had cast the spell, and more importantly, they were unable to reverse it. All of the other Slytherins, who knew that the transformed students had planned to ambush Draco, now gave him a wide berth.

“Are you ever going to change them back?” Draco had asked Harry, when he’d found out that the weasels were still weasels.

“Nope,” had said Harry. “They’ll change back on their own once they feel remorse for their actions. Personally, I’m not holding out hope of any of them doing so – but people do still occasionally surprise me.”

Draco woke on Christmas morning to discover that his pile of presents was far smaller than usual. This was no surprise, considering his rebellion. But there was a card from his Mother, and a couple of wrapped packages which clearly came from her. Draco opened them.

One was a photo album, filled with photographs of Draco with his family. The other was a new winter cloak made of black velvet, with a silver clasp in the shape of a dragon. Draco looked at both gifts for a moment, before putting them away in his trunk.

Draco hadn’t sent anything to his parents for Christmas, and he felt a little bad about it, now, at least where his Mother was concerned. He resolved to write to her about the ball, later tomorrow; it was an innocuous enough topic, unlikely to create tensions, and his Mother would no doubt be happy to hear from him.

Draco got changed out of his pyjamas, dug out the presents he’d bought for Harry and Hermione, and went down to breakfast.

When he reached the Great Hall he made a beeline for the Gryffindor table, and sat in the empty seat next to Harry’s. The Gryffindors didn’t even bother to complain, for once. Possibly they were getting used to his presence.

“Merry Christmas,” said Draco, shoving a present at Harry.

Harry made a delighted sound, and tore all the wrapping paper off with more haste than grace.

“ _Immortalis Merlinus?_ ” Harry blinked down at the book. “ _The Immortal Merlin?_ ”

“It’s the wizarding world’s major publication on the Arthurian legends,” Draco informed him. “But the author was more interested in the wizard involved than a muggle king.”

Draco’s voice came out a little waspish, but _really_. It was insulting.

Harry looked up with a brilliant smile, and Draco’s stomach did flips at the sight.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “I have a present for you too, but it’s… elsewhere.”

Hermione was watching the two of them in amusement.

“Someone’s going to get a swelled head, reading that,” she remarked, to the confusion of everyone at the Gryffindor table but Draco and Harry.

“Me? Never,” said Harry, with a grin.

“Here, Hermione – this is yours,” said Draco, handing her the other wrapped package. Hermione’s face lit up in surprise and pleasure.

“Oh – you didn’t have to get me anything!” But she accepted the present happily enough.

“I wanted to,” said Draco. He watched as Hermione unwrapped it, with rather more decorum than Harry had displayed in opening his.

Hermione beamed as she opened the small box in her hands, to reveal an enamel hair-ornament which looked like a large star-shaped flower. The pearlescent white enamel gleamed in the light.

“Ow, how pretty!” Hermione exclaimed, admiring it.

“It’s an edelweiss flower,” Draco explained, just in case muggles didn’t raise their children with the knowledge of flowers. It was amazing what the muggleborns didn’t know, sometimes. “It signifies courage and daring. And since you’re a Gryffindor…” He shrugged.

Draco had ordered the brooch from the same jeweller his Mother sometimes bought from. It had cost more to buy Harry and Hermione’s presents than he really should have spent, considering that his trust fund was probably going to be cut off sometime soon, but Draco had wanted to buy something nice for his new friends while he still could.

“Thank you, Draco,” said Hermione, still beaming. “It’s perfect. I can wear it with my dress robes at the ball tonight.”

“Are you going with anyone?” Harry asked, looking interested in the answer.

Hermione blushed, but looked smug.

“I am,” she said. “And that’s all I’m telling you. You’ll find out who it is when everyone else does.”

“What about you?” Harry asked Draco. “Do you have a date for tonight?”

Draco tried not to wince at the question.

“Not really,” he said, and hoped that Harry wouldn’t pry any further.

Harry gave him a piercing, considering sort of look, one which reminded Draco that Harry was usually better at spotting what was right under his nose than most people were; but Harry made no further comment.

Draco could only be grateful. Trying to come up with an excuse for why he didn’t have a date to the person he would have liked to have as his date would have been unbearably awkward.

After a hearty breakfast, the three went their separate ways to gather cloaks and scarves and hats, meeting up again in the Entrance Hall. Hermione, when she joined them, was carrying a large wrapped package.

“This is for you,” she said, offering the package to Draco.

“How about you open it once we get to my Tower?” Harry suggested. Under his woollen winter cloak he was wearing a lumpy green jumper which had clearly been knitted together by an amateur hand, and a scarf made in Gryffindor colours.

“Good idea.” Draco tucked the package under one arm, and the three of them left the castle.

Outside it was bitterly cold, and Draco had never been gladder to arrive at Harry’s tower. Inside was dry and warm, and brightly-lit by the ever-burning candles. Harry, Draco and Hermione shrugged off their cloaks and hung them on the stand by the door, before sitting at the table.

Draco opened his present from Hermione to discover that it was a book.

 _101 Important Advances of the 20 th Century_, the title proclaimed. The dust-jacket was covered with pictures of people he didn’t recognise, frozen in the instant that their photograph had been taken. It was strange, looking down at photographs which didn’t move, or smile, or wave.

“Is this a muggle book?” Draco asked.

Hermione nodded.

“I asked my parents to buy it and send it to me,” she explained. “I thought you might like to know how the muggle world has evolved, since you were King Arthur.”

If nothing else, it was bound to be interesting, Draco supposed. He only vaguely understood the concept of muggle science – the thing that muggles used to advance themselves in the absence of magic. But as High-King of Britain, he really ought to have some idea of what the muggle world was up to – even if he was content to leave the muggle Queen on the throne. As far as he could tell, the non-magical government ran smoothly enough without him intervening to muck it all up.

“Thank you,” said Draco, and Harry apparated out of sight with a loud _crack_.

“Use the stairs!” Draco and Hermione chorused, before looking at each other in surprise. Harry reappeared a moment later.

“Presents for both of you,” he announced. “Sorry you had to wait so long after giving me mine, Hermione.”

Hermione made a dismissive sound.

“I’m just glad you liked it.” She accepted the present Harry gave her. A moment later, Draco accepted his own present from Harry.

It turned out to be a small silver knife in a matching sheath, designed to be hidden about one’s person.

“Harry!” Hermione made a scandalised face. “You can’t give him that!”

“Sure I can,” said Harry. “I can’t be around all the time, and Draco isn’t exactly going to get away with carrying Excalibur around everywhere. This is a compromise.”

“A very nice compromise,” Draco told him, admiring the knife. “It’s magical?” There was no reason for it to be made from silver, otherwise.

Harry grinned, rather evilly.

“Very.”

Draco tucked the knife away into his robes, and didn’t ask exactly what charms and curses were on it.

The three of them talked and did very little else until the afternoon, when Harry called for Dobby to bring them a late lunch. The eccentric elf appeared out of nowhere, only to bounce excitedly as he caught sight of Harry.

“Merlin sir is wearing the jumper Dobby made for him!”

Draco covered his laugh with a cough. That explained the jumper, then. Dobby didn’t seem to notice Draco’s mirth, but Harry slanted a glance his way, for just a second, eyes crinkling in shared amusement.

“It’s very warm,” said Harry. “Dobby, can you bring us some lunch, please?”

“Dobby will ask Hogwarts kitchen elves,” said Dobby, and he disappeared.

“Dobby made you a jumper?” Draco asked, once the house-elf was gone.

Harry laughed.

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s sweet,” said Hermione. “Did you give him anything?”

“Socks,” said Harry. “Muggle ones, with kids cartoon characters on them.”

The next few hours passed comfortably. Draco and Hermione wandered around Harry’s tower, exploring each floor.

“Is there a bathroom?” Hermione asked, a question which Draco had overlooked. Draco blinked as Harry grimaced.

“Sort of,” he said. “I’m in the process of building one just outside the tower, in a small out-house, but it’s not finished yet. I need to work out how to connect everything to the mains and the sewers.”

“So where do you go when you need to…?” Draco asked delicately, in horrified fascination. Harry shrugged.

“I apparate back to Hogwarts and use the facilities there. I mean, there’s a chamber pot upstairs which vanishes any contents, but that’s not exactly up to modern standards.”

Draco and Hermione stared at Harry in mild horror.

“I dearly hope you finish building the bathroom by the time the holidays arrive,” said Draco.

“I should,” said Harry. “Why? Are you going to pay me a visit or two?”

Draco stared at the wooden tabletop.

“I was hoping,” he said carefully, “that you might have enough room here in the Tower for me to stay over the holidays.”

Harry sent Draco a sharp, knowing sort of look.

“As long as you don’t mind sharing a bedroom, it should be fine,” he said, his voice casual. “I can fit a second bed into my room, easily.”

“Thank you,” said Draco.

Dobby reappeared then, carrying a plate stacked high with sandwiches, and then they were too busy eating to talk.

Much later, as the afternoon transitioned into evening, Hermione said, “I should probably get back – it will take me a while to get ready for the ball.”

“But the ball is hours away,” said Harry.

“Yes, and it’s going to take me that long to get ready,” said Hermione, with more patience than Harry’s remark deserved.

“Achieving perfection takes time,” said Draco, earning himself a smile from Hermione.

“I don’t know, I seem to manage it just fine,” said Harry, smirking.

“You’re a prat who looks like he’s never combed his hair in his life,” said Draco flatly.

Harry put a hand to his heart as though mortally wounded.

“How could you say such a thing?”

“Easily.”

“Boys.” Hermione interrupted their banter. “Harry. Can you take me back to Hogwarts?”

Harry heaved a dramatic sigh.

“I suppose,” he said, climbing to his feet. “I can’t believe you’re depriving us of your company already. You had better look _radiant_ , Hermione.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Hermione dryly, putting her cloak back on and taking Harry’s proffered arm.

Draco watched them vanish, and belatedly realised that he and Harry would be _alone_. Given Draco’s feelings, that probably wasn’t such a great idea, right now.

When Harry reappeared, Draco stood up from his seat and told Harry that he should probably be getting back as well.

“Not you too,” said Harry. “What are you planning to do that will take so much time, powder your hair?”

Draco glared at him. Harry grinned a little.

“Alright, alright, I’ll take you back to Hogwarts.”

“Thank you,” said Draco, with dignity. He went to get his cloak.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who have left comments! They are all that sustain me at this point, where this fic is concerned. 
> 
> There may be more chapters of this than currently indicated, but I don't know for certain, yet. Also, this chapter borrows a teeny bit of movie canon.

**Chapter Eleven**

Draco began getting ready some time before the Yule Ball was due to begin.

Draco’s dress robes were black, with dark green accents, and they were cut according to the latest fashion. Draco had always taken it for granted that he would have the most expensive robes in the room, relying on his Mother’s good taste and his Father’s fortune to aid him. The idea of not having the most expensive clothes in the room would have filled him with indignation, once.

He really had been a pillock before he’d gotten his memories back, hadn’t he, Draco thought, and grimaced.

Still, he had to admit that he looked good in his tailored robes. Hopefully he wouldn’t grow out of them too soon, since they’d likely be his last set of dress robes for a while, if things went the way that he suspected they would. Knowing him as he did, Draco suspected that his Father would try and punish him during the holidays until he stopped rebelling against his Father’s views, and became a dutiful son once more.

For that reason, Draco had no intention of going home over the holidays. His Father had an ugly temper, and while he’d never taken it out on Draco before, Draco had never really displeased him before, either. But Draco had seen the way his Father treated those he thought were beneath him – even those who were loyal to him, like the house-elves. He knew what his Father thought of so-called blood-traitors, too. He still loved his Father, but… well, there was a definite _but_ there, now, put it that way.

Draco’s Mother, once she realised that Draco had no intention of changing his ideological position, would most likely tolerate his new opinions for the sake of maintaining a relationship with him. At least, so Draco hoped. But he didn’t have the same confidence in his Father’s ability to maintain civility in the face of such ideological differences. Draco wasn't sure that he could, either.

Draco sighed, shook his head, and finished getting ready.

At eight o’clock Draco made his way down to the Great Hall. It had been transformed with decorations, and tiny fairies darted all over the hall, adding to the ambient light.

The House tables had been removed, replaced by a large number of much smaller tables which could fit three or four couples. The champions had their own, larger table, and Harry was sitting there, beside a petite blonde wearing bright orange dress robes. For once Harry didn’t have a hair out of place, and he was wearing dark green dress robes which fit him _extremely_ well. Overall, he looked very handsome. Draco’s gaze was wistful.

To Draco’s surprise, Hermione was sitting at the champions’ table as well, although it took him a moment to recognise her. Her hair was smooth and straight instead of bushy and all over the place, and she was wearing it up in a simple knot which was held together by the flower-shaped hair ornament which Draco had given her that morning. It went well with her periwinkle-blue dress robes and the pearl necklace she also wore. She was seated next to Victor Krum, and girls at the nearby tables were sending her envious glances.

With both his friends sitting at the champions’ table, Draco had no one to sit with. In the end he found an empty seat next to Neville Longbottom, who was sitting with the Weasley girl from the year below them. Their table wasn’t far from the champions’ table.

“Longbottom. Weasley,” said Draco, with a polite nod. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Er–”

“You might as well,” said the Weasley girl. She was giving Draco a calculating look.

“Thank you,” said Draco. He took a seat.

“Don’t you have a date?” asked Longbottom, and then looked embarrassed. “I mean–”

“No,” said Draco. “I don’t.”

“Couldn’t find anyone to ask, then?” asked Weasley.

“The person I would have liked to ask already had a date,” Draco corrected. Weasley’s eyes gleamed.

“Really? Who?”

“I think I’ll spare myself the embarrassment of sharing that, thank you.”

Weasley laughed, and turned back to Longbottom. The two of them resumed their conversation, leaving Draco to sit without anyone to talk to.

Dinner was delicious, but from where he sat Draco could see Harry, who was speaking with great animation to the petite blonde girl and looking highly entertained by whatever they were talking about. Draco stabbed his food with his fork using more violence than was necessary.

He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t jealous. But he knew that was a lie.

After dinner was over, Harry and the other champions opened the ball, and Longbottom and Weasley got up to dance. As soon as the first dance was over, however, Harry and his date made a beeline for where Draco was sitting.

“Draco,” said Harry. “Meet Luna Lovegood.”

Up close, Luna had a wide-eyed look which gave her an expression of perpetual surprise. She blinked at Draco.

“Hello,” she said, and then, “Welcome back, my liege.”

Draco stared at her. Then he glared at Harry, who put his hands up in a _don’t curse me_ pose, laughing.

“Don’t look at me like that, she worked it out for herself!”

“The Magic of the Land is tied to you,” said Luna, sitting in the chair Harry pulled out for her. “I don’t see how anyone could miss it.”

Draco was beginning to understand why Harry had looked so entertained over dinner. He found himself lost for words.

“Most people can’t see what’s right under their nose, that’s why,” said Harry cheerfully. “Would you excuse me a moment?”

“Certainly,” said Luna. Harry left, headed in the direction of the boys’ bathrooms.

Draco was left sitting alone with Harry’s date, feeling both awkward, and vaguely resentful. He desperately wanted to know if Luna planned to try and ensnare Harry’s affections, but was too polite to actually ask.

“Should we make small talk?” Luna asked, and blinked her wide blue eyes. “Or would you rather ask whatever it is you want to ask me? I can tell that something’s eating at you, you know.”

“Are you planning to date Harry?” Draco asked, abandoning all decorum. Luna blinked up at him.

“Not at all,” she said.

“Then why ask him to the Ball?”

Luna continued to stare up at Draco, and behind her vague gaze, Draco had the impression that she saw more than most people gave her credit for.

“Because he was so kind to me when he caught the other girls hiding my things, and when he said he didn’t have a date to the ball yet, I thought that it would be a nice way for us to become friends,” said Luna. “Why? Did you want to ask him?”

Draco spluttered for a second. But Luna was gazing at him in innocent curiosity, and it was clear that she wasn’t motivated by prurient interest or any kind of malicious sentiment.

“Maybe,” Draco finally admitted, grudgingly.

He didn’t expect Luna to beam at him.

“I think Merlin would have liked that very much,” she said, and Draco gaped at her. “You should tell him.”

“I’m not going to tell him,” Draco snapped.

“But why not?”

Draco couldn’t believe that he was having this conversation.

“Because what if he doesn’t feel the same way I do? I can’t think of anything more humiliating.”

Or emotionally crushing, for that matter; but Draco didn’t say that part aloud.

Luna’s brow furrowed.

“But then how will you ever find out if he likes you back?” she asked reasonably.

“Can we just – drop the subject, please?” asked Draco.

“If you want to,” said Luna, a little doubtfully.

“I do. _Really_.”

“Alright then,” said Luna. Her gaze wandered to the dance floor, where Hermione and Krum were dancing. “Your friend Hermione Granger looks very pretty tonight, doesn’t she?”

Draco was grateful for the subject change.

“She does,” he agreed.

Just then Harry returned, and sat where Longbottom had been sitting earlier, next to Draco.

“Would you like to dance?” Harry asked Luna.

“Do you even know how to dance?” Draco asked Harry.

He didn’t expect Harry to laugh as though Draco had said something funny.

“Professor McGonagall taught us all to dance so that we wouldn’t shame our House during the Yule Ball,” said Harry, looking amused. “Everyone was so embarrassed. Except for me, of course. I think that’s why she kept picking me as a dance partner for her demonstrations.”

While Draco was trying not to laugh at that frankly hilarious mental image, Harry added, “So yes. Although all the wizarding dances these days are so staid and boring.”

His face brightened suddenly as he looked at Draco.

“Whatever idea you just thought of, the answer is no,” said Draco quickly, because he knew that expression.

“We should show them how it’s done,” said Harry, grinning. “What do you say?”

“ _No_ ,” said Draco firmly.

“I’d like to see you dance,” said Luna. “It would be educational. Are dances from your time very different?”

Harry looked out at all the students, currently engaged in a waltz with their dance partners.

“Oh, yes.” He stood up. “I’m going to go talk to the band,” he announced, and disappeared into the crowd.

“You had to encourage him,” said Draco, with a sigh. Luna only smiled at him.

Harry reappeared as the current song was coming to an end, and pulled Draco to his feet.

“Come on,” he told Draco, and his eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm. “ _Please_ , my King?”

Draco groaned. He should really say _no_. But Harry looked so handsome, his smile so charming, that Draco couldn’t bring himself to disappoint the other boy.

“Fine.” Draco gave in. “I’ll dance with you.”

Harry grinned, and dragged him into the centre of the dance floor just as the band began a piece of traditional music. Harry nodded at Draco, and they began to dance.

The dance involved a lot of leaping, and twirling, and the simultaneous kicking of feet into the air. The other dancers stopped dancing to watch them. A large circle of onlookers formed around Harry and Draco.

Halfway through, Draco realised that he was smiling widely. He was actually having fun, even though he and Harry probably looked ridiculous to modern eyes. He and Harry went twirling past each other, and Harry winked at him as they both kicked their feet up into the air. Draco shook his head, but laughed.

When they finally finished, the crowd around them broke into applause. Draco was surprised as he looked out at the impressed and astonished faces surrounding him and Harry. Apparently the other dancers didn’t think they looked ridiculous, after all.

Harry dropped into a theatrical bow, and so Draco did the same. Together they left the dance floor, and returned to where Luna was sitting at the now otherwise-abandoned table.

Moments after they were seated Hermione appeared, hand-in-hand with Krum.

“That was amazing!” said Hermione. “I didn’t know the two of you could dance like that. Victor, these are my friends, Harry and Draco.”

“Your dance was most entertaining,” said Krum, in heavily accented English.

Harry was still smiling and red-cheeked from the exertion of the dance. It was a good look on him, Draco thought, and sighed.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “It’s an early medieval dance.”

Krum nodded.

“I see. Where did you learn it?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, smiling wide. Draco jabbed him with an elbow, because he was pretty sure that Harry was about to tell the truth, and he was also pretty sure that Harry had learned that particular dance in Camelot.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” said Harry, still smiling.

“It was certainly different to how everyone else was dancing,” said Luna. “Very energetic. Would you teach me?” she asked Draco.

Draco blinked, feeling taken aback at the fact that she’d asked _him_. Harry guffawed at Draco’s expression.

“Um – I’m a bit busy, at the moment,” Draco said, bemused. “So is Harry, for that matter.”

“I suppose that being the King of Britain and his Court Wizard must be rather time-consuming,” said Luna, her expression contemplative.

Draco made a strangled sound. Krum went, “What?” and Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Luna to Draco. “No one ever believes a thing I say. I’m just Loony Lovegood, you know.”

“Luna,” said Harry, his voice solemn, “you are a treasure, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Luna beamed at him.

“I do not understand,” said Krum, his brow furrowed. Hermione patted his arm.

“With Harry and Draco, you’re probably better off that way.”

“Hey!” said Harry, his tone playfully indignant.

But Hermione looked at Luna. “Who calls you Loony Lovegood?” Her voice was disapproving.

“Oh, the other Ravenclaws,” said Luna airily. “Because I believe in all kinds of things they say don’t exist, and because Dad owns _The Quibbler_. He’s also the senior editor.”

Draco had heard of the _The Quibbler_. Most people thought it was a load of rubbish.

“ _The Quibbler?_ You mean that–” Hermione began, but Harry caught her eye, and whatever she saw in his expression made Hermione change what she was about to say. “–magazine?”

Luna nodded.

“ _The Quibbler_ is dedicated to investigating what no one else will. By exploring every possible avenue, we believe that the Quibbler will inevitably discover the truth.”

“Oh. Well, that’s – commendable.” Hermione’s voice was careful.

Just then someone cleared their throat, the sound coming from somewhere behind the small group. They all looked around to see Ron Weasley standing there, looking uncomfortable.

But then, if Draco had been forced to wear such a monstrosity for dress robes, he would have been uncomfortable, too. They were a bright shade of maroon which clashed with his hair, and had lace at the sleeves and collar. Draco was pretty sure that was the fashion a good eighty years or so ago.

He was about to say so, but Harry caught his eye, and gave a minute shake of the head. So Draco stayed silent.

“What do you want, Ron?” Harry’s voice was cool, but not overly hostile.

Weasley visibly swallowed.

“You were right, and I’m sorry,” he blurted out, flushing up to the roots of his hair. “I wasn’t a good friend to you this year. You were the best mate I ever had – the _first_ friend I ever had, really, since I wouldn’t exactly count Fred and George, or Ginny – and I should have known better.”

While everyone was staring at him, Weasley shuffled around to face Hermione.

“I wanted to say sorry to you too, Hermione.” He looked at his shoes. “I said some pretty rotten things to you, when you were just trying to get me to stop being a knucklehead.”

Harry went still.

“What kind of things?” he asked, in the light, easy voice that meant _trouble_.

Weasley, unlike Sirius, apparently recognised The Voice when he heard it. He gulped.

“Nothing that was true,” he said. “And I didn’t mean them. Not really.”

Hermione looked pained. Krum looked between her and Ron, trying to follow what was going on.

“This boy said some unkind things to you?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Hermione. “When we were still friends.”

Weasley flinched at that.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, rather miserably.

“It’s a bit late for that, Ron,” said Harry, but his tone was a little more gentle than it had been.

“I know,” said Weasley. “I’m not asking you to forgive me, or – or anything. I just thought – well, you deserve to know that I’m going to try to do better.”

“Thank you,” said Harry gravely. “Is that all?”

Weasley bobbed his head. He started to walk away, stopped, and turned back to Hermione. “You look really nice, Hermione,” he added, and he sounded sad. This time, when he turned and walked away, he didn’t stop. The others watched him go.

Draco glanced at Hermione, who appeared conflicted.

“You okay, Hermione?” Harry asked. His voice was quiet.

“I–” Hermione took a deep breath. “I will be.”

“Would you like to dance again?” asked Krum. He looked concerned.

“You know, I think I would.” Hermione gave Krum a smile that was a little tremulous, but genuine. Krum offered her his hand, and Hermione took it, letting the Durmstrang Champion lead her back onto the dance floor.

“Hermione seemed upset,” said Draco, not quite asking a question. Harry sighed.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure she had a crush on Ron, for a while.”

“ _Weasley?”_ Draco said, before he could stop himself. “She could do so much better!”

Harry smiled, but there was had no humour in the expression.

“Before this year, I wouldn’t have agreed with you. But after his display of jealousy and betrayal…” Harry’s lips thinned.

“He said he’s going to try to do better,” Draco offered. “Who knows. Maybe he will. He’s still only fourteen. He has time to grow.”

Harry sighed.

“Maybe.” He turned to look at Luna, sitting beside him. “Do you feel like dancing, Luna?”

“Yes, please!” said Luna. “If you don’t mind.”

Harry smiled at her as he helped her to her feet, and the two of them joined the other dancers.

Draco watched them go. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel jealous, knowing that Luna had zero designs upon Harry.

He only hoped that Harry had fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I googled medieval dances for this chapter. You're welcome.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter than usual! *grin* Let me know what you think of this one!

**Chapter Twelve**

_Dear Mother,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know that you must think me remiss in my lack of correspondence these last few months. The truth is that my views on a number of matters have changed, and I no longer see eye to eye with you and Father on the issues of blood purity and the treatment muggleborns deserve. That is why I have been reluctant to contact you – a point of cowardice on my part, which I now intend to rectify._

_Father, no doubt, will blame Harry Potter for my change of heart; but Harry is a symptom, not the cause. The fact is, as I have come to understand muggleborns better, I have also come to appreciate that they are people, equal to you or I. So, indeed, are muggles, despite their lack of magic. Magic may mean might – but it does not mean righteousness. That quality comes from one’s purity of heart, not that of blood. In that sense, most of the pureblood traditionalists are anything but pure._

_I wish to make things better for all of wizardkind, whether they be pureblood, halfblood, or muggleborn. I do not yet understand enough about the muggles to know what is best for them. But their achievements, considering their lack of magic, are all the more astounding for that lack. Did you know that muggles have been to the Moon? They even have photographs of the event: I have seen them in a muggle book. It makes me question the complacency of wizards, that we do not even dream of such accomplishments, let alone achieve them. Magic is a force for marvels, when properly applied. When did we lose sight of that fact?_

_I know that the contents of this letter will most likely distress you. That is not my intention. But I must be who I am. Perhaps I have borrowed some of that Gryffindor bravery, to pursue openness and integrity of self, regardless of what it might cost me. However, I have true friends by my side, for the first time in my life; and I am confident that should I falter in my resolve, they shall be there to bolster me._

_Whatever your response to this letter, choose it carefully; for as I have come to learn, actions have consequences, and not all of them may be undone. I hope that our relationship may continue to be one of care and consideration, despite my changed perspective on so many things._

_Your loving son,_

_Draco._

* * *

Draco wasn’t really surprised to get a Howler, two days after the Yule Ball. He’d sent the letter to his Mother the day before, knowing that if his Father read it, there would be problems. But his Mother, at least, had deserved an explanation.

Draco hadn’t expected to receive _two_ Howlers. Hands trembling slightly, he opened the envelope with his Father’s handwriting on the outside first.

“ _Draco_.” His Father’s coldly displeased voice cut through the hubbub of breakfast in the Great Hall. People turned to stare. “ _I am deeply disappointed in you. We did not spend the last fourteen years raising you so that you might turn against our teachings. You will display the proper behaviour expected of the Malfoy name – or you shall not bear the name at all. I trust that you have yet enough wisdom and familial feeling to make the decision expected of you.”_

Its message delivered, the Howler disintegrated into ash. Draco took a fortifying breath. A moment later he opened the second Howler.

His Mother’s voice echoed around the Great Hall.

“ _Draco, ignore your Father. We both love you and care for you, no matter what your allegiances may be. Hopefully your Father will see reason. If the worst comes to the worst, the Black name is always open to you. Stay safe.”_

His Mother’s Howler crumbled into ash, as well. The rest of the school, after sending him curious or pitying looks, turned back to their breakfasts. Draco was unable to eat, his stomach roiling.

He’d thought his Father might cast him out, but – to actually disown Draco through a rite of magic, as he’d threatened? He must be angry indeed. Even Sirius Black, when he was disowned by his parents, hadn’t been disowned _magically_. Only in the legal sense, robbing Sirius of any right to inherit from his parents – not that it had mattered much in the end, as Sirius’ uncle Alphard Black had chosen to leave all the Black properties to him despite Sirius being disowned.

If Draco was disowned magically by his Father, however, he would not only lose all right to inherit Malfoy assets and money when his Father died, but would no longer be permitted to use the surname _Malfoy_ as his own from the moment he was disowned. It was a drastic step to take. Draco had thought that if things came to the worst, he might be thrown out of home, but he’d never dreamed he might be _magically disowned_.

He wondered if his Father was bluffing. Draco hoped so.

A few seconds later, Harry dropped into the empty seat next to Draco’s.

“Draco Black has a nice ring to it,” he offered.

“Shut up.”

Harry did shut up, looking at Draco in what appeared to be concern.

Draco ran his hands through his hair, and closed his eyes. He’d hoped his Father might come around, because for all the awful things his Father had no doubt done during Voldemort’s first rise, he was still Draco’s Father. But it was looking like that wasn’t going to happen.

At least his Mother was sticking by him.

Draco opened his eyes and turned to Harry.

“When can we go after the next… thing?” he asked, mindful of the other Slytherins listening in.

“Whenever you wish,” said Harry. He was watching Draco closely.

“Right, then,” said Draco. “Does after breakfast suit you?”

Harry gave a nod.

“Let’s do it then. We can meet in the Entrance Hall again.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Theodore Nott, with a frown.

“None of your business,” said Harry. He reached up to clap a hand to Draco’s shoulder, and let his hand rest there for a moment as a gesture of support, before he stood up to return to the Gryffindor table.

Draco forced himself to eat something; going after a horcrux on an empty stomach was a terrible idea.

He met Harry in the Entrance Hall, and they went through their usual routine of walking down towards the school gates, using the Disillusionment Charm on themselves, and apparating to Merlin’s Tower. There, Draco put on the sheath that held Excalibur, while Harry double-checked the address of the horcrux they were going after.

“Okay,” said Harry, once they were done. “Pull the hood of your cloak up – we need to catch the Knight Bus, and we don’t want to be recognised.”

“What? Can’t you just apparate us there?” Draco demanded.

“Touching though I find your faith in my ability to break the laws of magic–”

“ _Harry_.”

“No,” said Harry. “Not even I can apparate to a place I’ve never seen, and I doubt that something described as a _shack_ has a Floo connection. The Knight Bus is our best bet.”

Draco swore.

“Harry, we’re in _Hogwarts robes!_ Someone’s bound to notice!”

Harry considered this.

“Hang on,” he said, and apparated upstairs somewhere. When he returned, he was holding two plain black robes. He tossed one to Draco, who caught it.

“We can change into these,” he said.

“How old are they?” Draco asked, in some suspicion, because the cut of the robes was beyond old-fashioned.

“Not quite as old as my Tower.”

“Why haven’t they fallen apart? It’s been centuries.”

“Magic,” said Harry, with a smirk.

He began stripping off his Hogwarts robes before Draco could hex him. Draco had a glimpse of toned muscle before he resolutely turned away from Harry, resisting the urge to sneak a peek at him with his robes off. Instead, Draco took off the scabbard he was wearing and changed into the plain robes Harry had given him, keeping his back to the other boy.

The robes were surprisingly soft and comfortable, and smelled faintly of cedarwood. Draco finished adjusting them and reached for Excalibur’s scabbard. Once that was on, Draco put his cloak back on and pulled the hood up to obscure his head and face.

“Let’s go.”

Outside, Harry stuck out his wand in the traditional manner of one summoning the Knight Bus. There was a loud _bang_ , and the bus pulled up to the curb.

Draco stared at it. It was a triple-decker bus with a distinctly lopsided look, as though it was about to topple over on its side. Draco had never actually been on the bus, before; his parents had always apparated him anywhere he couldn’t get by Floo.

The Knight Bus looked distinctly unsafe, he thought.

But Harry was already climbing onto the bus, and so Draco followed, despite his misgivings.

The bus conductor looked at the two of them with their hoods up, and his expression was uneasy.

“Morning, Stan,” said Harry. “Two tickets to Little Hangleton, please.” His head turned in Draco’s direction for a moment. “And two hot chocolates.” He looked back at the conductor.

The conductor seemed reassured by the cheerful greeting.

“That’ll be thirty sickles for the two of you,” he said. “Bit out of the way, Little Hangleton.”

“So it is,” said Harry, without offering any explanation for why he and Draco were going there. He handed over the correct amount of money, before making his way down the aisle, and sitting on the nearest empty bed. Draco sat next to him.

The bus took off with a jerk, and Draco fell onto his back across the bed as it skidded across the floor.

“What the–” Draco began, but then the bus turned a corner and he almost toppled off the bed altogether. But a strong hand grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him upright.

“Isn’t this great?” asked a grinning Harry, clinging to the closest bedpost with his free hand. Draco grabbed onto the other bedpost for dear life.

“No!” he hollered over the sound of traffic. “It isn’t!”

At the next stop, the conductor appeared with their hot chocolates, and Harry tapped each mug with his wand before the bus took off again. Miraculously, neither hot chocolate spilled, no matter how the beds slid and skidded across the floor.

When Draco looked over, Harry was cheerfully drinking his hot chocolate, so Draco took a sip of his own. It wasn’t half-bad. He drank some more. It went down much more easily than what little breakfast Draco had forced down, earlier that morning.

All in all, the trip to Little Hangleton took forever, even taking into account the speeds at which the bus travelled. Draco was heartily bored, and halfway there he made Harry budge up so that he could lie down on the bed and didn’t have to hold onto the bedpost anymore.

Finally, however, they were there. Draco got off the bus on slightly unsteady legs, Harry following, and the bus disappeared from view with a loud _bang_.

“ _Point Me_ , the Gaunt Shack,” Harry murmured, with his wand resting on his palm, and it spun a few times before turning to point left.

“That’s not even a real spell,” Draco grumbled.

“Come on,” said Harry, and he began walking forward.

They came to what appeared to be a small forest on the outskirts of the village, but the wand continued to point in that direction, and so Harry and Draco pushed through the trees, looking for anything that might meet the description of a _shack_.

Finally, as they peered through the gloom, Draco noticed a closed door half-hidden by the trees around it. Once he’d noticed the door, Draco was able to discern the shape of the rest of the shack.

“There,” he said, pointing. Harry let his hand close around his wand, and pushed forward.

The shack was in an incredible state of disrepair: the walls were covered in moss, where they were visible through the trees, and most of the room tiles had fallen off onto the ground below.

About a foot away from the shack, Harry put out a hand to stop Draco.

“It’s warded,” he said tensely, his eyes tracking something only he could see. “Stay here. I’m going to disable the wards.”

What followed was a painstaking process that went on for nearly twenty minutes. But just as Draco was getting bored, there was a flash of light, a crackling sound, and Harry was blasted backwards into the nearest tree.

He fell to the ground, and didn’t move.

“ _Harry!_ ”

Draco crossed the space between them in a instant, dropping to his knees beside Harry. His heart felt like it was about to beat its way out of his chest. He shook Harry’s shoulder gently, feeling frantic.

“Harry!” he said again.

“ _Ow_ ,” Harry groaned, low and heartfelt, and opened his eyes. “Well, that wasn’t fun.” He started to sit up.

Draco didn’t stop to think, didn’t pause or hesitate. He bent his head and kissed Harry.

A second later, he realised what he was doing. But before he could panic, Harry had grabbed the front of Draco’s robes and pulled him closer, and _kissed Draco back_.

Harry kissed like he was drowning, and Draco was his only source of air. He kissed Draco like he’d wanted this for a very, very long time.

Finally the two of them broke apart, but stayed within inches of each other as they caught their breath. Draco met Harry’s eyes.

“Really?” asked Harry, breathless, and delighted as Draco had never seen him. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I am,” Draco told him. He felt like his heart was about to explode from joy.

“But Guinevere–”

“Was a lifetime ago. And she was never truly loyal to me, even if I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

Draco sat back, and watched as Harry moved into a more comfortable position than the awkward one Draco had inadvertently trapped him in.

Draco searched Harry’s eyes, hoping that he understood.

“You’re the one I want,” Draco promised, and Harry’s eyes, already bright with hope, lit up in sheer happiness.

He pulled Draco in for another kiss, and that was the last thing either of them said for a while.

Eventually, however, Harry said, “We should probably destroy the horcrux.”

Draco groaned, but began climbing to his feet. He offered Harry a hand up, and when Harry took it, hauled him to his feet.

“Did you manage to take the wards down?” Draco asked.

“I did. Although I wasn’t expecting the nasty surprise at the end, there. That’ll teach me to stay alert.” Harry picked his wand up off the ground where it had fallen, and straightened up. “There might be spells on the horcrux itself, even if the wards are gone, so be careful.”

“Noted.”

Together, the two of them moved into the darkness of the abandoned shack. There was no sign of a ring.

Harry used the _Point Me_ spell again, and his wand tipped downwards towards the floor.

With a wave of Harry’s wand the floorboards began ripping themselves up. There, nestled beneath the floor, was a golden box.

‘It’s cursed, isn’t it,” said Draco.

“Very much so.” Harry peered down at the box. “Want to give it a good whack with Excalibur?”

“Why not,” said Draco, and he drew the sword. He raised the blade into the air, and brought it down hard.

The box shattered under the blow. Harry carefully opened the remains of the box, using a handkerchief to prevent his skin coming into contact with the cursed metal.

Inside the box was a simple gold ring, set with a black stone. A strange symbol was engraved on the stone’s surface.

Harry sucked in a shocked breath and stared at the stone like it might bite him.

“What is it?” Draco asked, in some alarm. Nothing good made Harry wear that expression.

“Something I have only heard tales of,” said Harry. “An artefact created by Death himself: the Resurrection Stone. It has to be.”

“You can’t mean the one in _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ ,” Draco said. “That’s just a story!”

Harry met Draco’s eyes, his own deeply worried.

“Draco, I can see this thing in ways that you can’t, and I am telling you, that is definitely an object which once belonged to Death.” Harry’s voice was solemn.

Draco absorbed this information.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Aside from the horcrux? Yes. But only to those who try to use it, I think.”

“Can it be destroyed?” Draco asked finally.

“Unlikely,” said Harry. “But attempting to destroy it may at least remove the horcrux. You should give it a try.”

So Draco hefted the sword once more, hesitated for a moment as he looked down at the innocuous black stone, and then swung Excalibur.

There was the unearthly scream Draco had come to expect from a dying horcrux, and then nothing.

Harry looked down at the stone, which was now cracked down the middle.

“Well, the horcrux is gone,” he said, and gingerly reached to pick up the ring. Draco tensed, but Harry simply slid the ring into his pocket. “I’ll store this back at the Tower. It’s too dangerous to leave lying around.”

Draco replaced the sword in its scabbard, and Harry reached for him. A moment later, they were standing outside Merlin’s Tower.

“If the Stone is real,” said Draco slowly, as Harry let them inside, “does that mean the cloak and the wand are, too?”

“Oh, yes,” said Harry. “I have the cloak, actually – it’s a Potter heirloom. And Dumbledore, I’m fairly certain, carries the wand.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Although I’d have to get a close look at it to be sure,” Harry added, as though it was perfectly fine that Dumbledore carried a wand which made its wielder undefeatable in battle. “But the aura of power it gives off, plus the carving of elder berries at the handle, makes me pretty certain that’s what it is.”

Draco wondered if this was what a heart-attack felt like.

“ _Harry_ –”

Harry glanced at Draco, and frowned.

“Don’t look so worried. If Dumbledore was determined to rule Britain, he’d have done it decades ago. Instead he lives a fairly quiet life. I’m not worried about him going power-mad, or anything. Actually, I find his use of restraint where the wand is concerned, well, admirable.”

“Admirable,” Draco repeated flatly. “Harry, you believe he _wants you dead_.”

“Only because he thinks it’s the key to destroying Voldemort,” said Harry, and his words almost sounded like they were absolving the Headmaster of guilt, except that Harry’s smile was sharp, his eyes glittering. “But don’t worry; I’m not about to forgive him.”

“Good,” said Draco. “Because if he tried to hurt you, I’d have to kill him.”

Harry looked startled for a second. Then he smirked.

“Is that so?”

“Oh, just – come here, you git,” said Draco, pulling him close and snogging him.

When they broke apart for air, Draco said, “How long?”

Harry didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He said simply, “Always.”

Draco closed his eyes at that, furious at himself for being oblivious, across two lifetimes and far too many years.

“No wonder you didn’t like Guinevere much.”

“Oh, that wasn’t just jealousy, my King,” said Harry. “I was also aware she wasn’t even vaguely worthy of you, despite her great beauty. And I have always done my best to safeguard your interests.”

For some reason, those words made a lump form in Draco’s throat.

“Yes. I know,” he said quietly.

Harry tilted his head to smile up at Draco, his expression fond.

“You know, Hermione is going to be so smug. She’s been trying to tell me you fancied me for ages, but I didn’t believe her.”

“It’s not just that I fancy you, you know,” said Draco. “You mean a lot more than that.”

Harry’s smile was brilliant and happy, in a way that Draco had rarely seen it.

He hoped that he would get to see a lot more of that particular smile in the years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too anticlimactic... also, there's still two chapters to go...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! Sorry for the wait, guys.

**Chapter Thirteen**

That evening, when Draco and Harry walked into the Great Hall, shoulder-to-shoulder, Hermione made a beeline for them.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, mostly of Harry. “I’ve been looking for you all day! I can’t believe you two went off without even telling me!”

“Oops,” said Harry. “Sorry. Draco was a bit upset by the Howler this morning, so we went off to destroy one of Tom’s, you know, _things_.”

Hermione looked at them both without saying a word.

“What?” asked Draco, because he, at least, wasn’t immune to that particular look.

“There are healthier ways of expressing your emotions, I hope you’re aware,” said Hermione, her voice dry.

Harry laughed.

“Probably,” he agreed cheerfully. “But we sorted something out, when we were gone. You were right.”

“Of course I was,” said Hermione. “But about what in particular?”

Harry met Draco’s eyes, and reached to take his hand. Raising his eyebrows, Draco let it happen, and curled his fingers around Harry’s. In response, Harry smiled so hard it looked like it hurt. Draco allowed himself a smile of his own.

Hermione honestly _squeaked_ , a sound which Draco had never heard her make before. She flung her arms around both Draco and Harry, pulling them into a close and somewhat awkward hug.

“I’m so happy for you both!” she said into Harry’s shoulder, and then, “I _told_ you Draco fancied you! I _said_ you should tell him about your feelings! Next time you should listen to me!”

Hermione finally let Draco and Harry go, but her scolding was offset by her beaming smile.

“Next time I’ll listen,” said Harry. He tugged on Draco’s hand. “Come on, come sit at the Gryffindor table with us.”

“Professor Snape’ll have kittens,” Draco muttered, but allowed himself to be pulled along.

“You’re confusing him with McGonagall,” said Harry in a similarly low tone, just loud enough for Draco to hear. Draco went into a coughing fit as he tried not to laugh at the unexpected comment.

The Gryffindors, by now, were used to Draco hanging around Harry. But as he and Harry approached hand-in-hand, they became the recipients of a number of stares.

“Harry,” said the Patil girl, “are you sure you were being entirely truthful, last Hogsmeade visit?” Her tone was coy.

It took Draco a moment to realise that she was referring to the _are the two of you dating_ question that she’d asked weeks ago, during the last trip to Hogsmeade.

Harry met Draco’s eyes, a question in them. Draco gave a small nod.

“I was,” said Harry, smiling. “But circumstances have changed since then, as your discerning mind has noted.”

Both Patil and Brown both squealed loudly.

“What?” asked Finnegan, looking confused.

“Wait,” blurted Longbottom, in what appeared to be baffled horror, “you’re _dating Malfoy?”_

Further down the table, Weasley sprayed pumpkin juice everywhere.

“Very observant of you, Neville!” said Harry, as he and Draco took a seat at the Gryffindor table. “Yes, I am.”

“But you hate each other,” said Finnegan, still looking confused.

“Seamus, they’ve been spending time together nearly all term – how could you have missed that?” said Thomas, looking vaguely exasperated, but also amused.

“How did you get together?” Brown asked eagerly. “Was it very romantic?”

“Extremely,” said Harry, grinning. Draco elbowed him for encouraging her.

“Who confessed their feelings first?” Patil wanted to know.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, I would be surprised if either of them did. They’re equally hopeless – I’ve been watching them pine over each other for ages. They probably just started spontaneously snogging at some point.”

Draco felt himself turning pink, and mentally cursed his pale complexion.

Harry only smiled, and said nothing. Hermione looked vindicated.

“I can’t believe you’re _dating Malfoy_ ,” said Longbottom, still wearing that look of baffled horror.

“It’s his prickly attitude,” said Harry, as though confiding a great secret. “Like a hedgehog. Drives me wild.” Harry winked.

Draco felt his face turn very hot, and knew he had to be roughly the same colour as a pomegranate.

“Shut _up_ , Harry!”

“See what I mean?” said Harry. “Prickly.” He propped his chin on one hand and stared openly at Draco as though he were the most fascinating thing in the world.

By now, most of the Gryffindor table was listening in, and many people were laughing at Harry’s antics.

Draco scowled at Harry.

“Honestly, though,” said Weasley, speaking up for the first time since spitting his pumpkin juice everywhere. “You do actually _like_ him, don’t you?”

The smile dropped off Harry’s face, and for the first time during the group conversation, he looked serious.

“Very much,” said Harry. Brown and Patil both sighed, apparently finding Harry’s declaration romantic.

“Alright,” said Weasley, nodding decisively, and then looked at Draco. “Look, I know I’ve been a complete berk to Harry, but… if you hurt him, it won’t be just me you have to deal with, it’ll be all of Gryffindor.”

“ _Ron_ ,” said Harry, and he didn’t sound pleased.

“The same Gryffindors who have been happy to label him a cheat _and_ a liar over the Triwizard Tournament?” Draco drawled. “How… magnanimous of them.”

His words earned him several glares and uncomfortable expressions from the Gryffindor students seated around him.

Harry was silent, his eyes darting between Draco and the Gryffindors.

“The only people who think Harry cheated are people who miss the obvious,” said Longbottom, and he reddened as people looked at him. “I mean – we all know Harry’s a hero. We’ve heard the rumours about first year and second year: that Harry confronted Professor Quirrell and nearly died in first year when Quirrell tried to steal something from the school, and that Harry rescued a student from the Heir of Slytherin at the end of second year.”

“Yeah, but those are just rumours–” one of the sixth year students tried to say.

That was when the Weasley girl spoke up.

“Like _hell_ those are rumours,” she said, her eyes flashing. “ _I_ was the student kidnapped by the Heir of Slytherin.” A murmur went around the table, but she went on to say, “I’m telling you right now, Harry saved my life. If he hadn’t fought the Heir of Slytherin, I’d be dead. Every word of those _rumours_ is true.” She looked around the table, daring anyone to challenge her.

“But you never said anything about it before now,” one of the Weasley girl’s dorm-mates protested. The Weasley girl rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, Harry spoke in her defence.

“It’s called _trauma_ ,” he said, eyeing the third-year girl with a cool expression. “If someone kidnapped you and tried to murder you horribly, I very much doubt you’d want to relive the experience for every nosy busybody who wanted to know all the nasty details.”

The girl shrank back into her seat a little, looking chastened.

“So you really did do those things?” asked one of the older students, looking interested.

“For the record,” said Harry, “I did confront Professor Quirrell in first year; I did rescue Ginny from the Heir of Slytherin in my second; and _no_ , I did _not_ enter myself into the Triwizard Tournament. Someone else put my name in.”

“Now if you don’t mind, we’d like to eat dinner in peace,” said Draco, loudly. That seemed to be enough. People were still sending Harry and Draco curious or thoughtful glances, but they didn’t ask any more questions.

Harry shifted so that they were sitting elbow-to-elbow, his presence warm at Draco’s side.

“I am _not_ like a hedgehog,” Draco said in a low voice, barely loud enough for Harry to hear. On Draco’s other side, a choked-off giggle escaped Hermione.

“You keep telling yourself that,” said Harry, matching Draco’s low tone. “For the record, though, I find hedgehogs adorable.” He smiled at Draco, the expression unexpectedly soft.

Draco felt his face heat up again, and decided to let the issue lie.

* * *

Of all the horcruxes which they had located, Harry and Draco had only two left to destroy: the one in Harry’s scar, and the one in the Lestrange Vault at Gringotts. Those two were the ones which might prove genuinely difficult to deal with.

According to Harry, the next step was to approach the Goblin Nation.

“I thought that the goblins never let anyone into someone else’s vault,” said Draco.

“Also, isn’t there some kind of treaty governing the bank?” Hermione chipped in.

“There is,” said Harry. “I tracked it down and read it. But your status as High King predates the treaty, meaning that it recognises your authority to override it – because you’re the King of all the wizards in Britain, as well as the non-magical humans.”

“I don’t remember ever encountering the goblins in my last life,” said Draco. “Wait – when you say the Goblin Nation, do you mean I need to meet with their head of state? Do they _have_ a head of state?”

“They do, and yes,” said Harry.

Draco groaned.

“Which means, of course, you will need to be stately and regal,” said Harry. “Majestic, even. Which means dressing to your station as both a wizard _and_ a King, being courteous and reasonable in your demands while never giving an inch, and by no means showing any fear you might be feeling.”

Because Draco _knew_ Harry, that last part set off warning bells in Draco’s brain.

“Harry,” said Draco, his voice slow and careful, “ _why_ would I be feeling fear, precisely?”

Harry shrugged.

“Because the Goblin King is one of the more powerful Fae in his own right, and that generally frightens people?”

Draco hissed in a breath, the blood draining from his face, and said, “ _Fuck_.” Next to him, Hermione looked like she felt the same way.

“That is exactly the reaction I mean,” said Harry.

Draco took a deep breath, then another. Finally, he said:

“Fine. The Goblin King is one of the Fae. I can handle it.”

“I have every confidence in you,” said Harry. He put his hands on Draco’s shoulders, and tilted his head slightly to look up into Draco’s face. “I know that you are familiar with the rules for dealing with the Fae, and you have always done what needed doing for the good of the people. You’ll be fine.”

To Draco’s surprise and mild annoyance, Harry’s words helped.

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione, looking worried. “I’ve read about the Fae, and from all accounts, they’re…” She trailed off, probably struggling to find a polite way to say _capricious,_ or _cruel_.

Harry sighed.

“I won’t lie, the Goblin King and I have never seen eye-to-eye,” he said, which Draco found to be an alarming statement, but Harry went on talking before Draco could tell him so. “But there is a mutual respect there, and that respect should be enough that the Goblin King will give a fair hearing to someone who ranks as high in my esteem as you do. Besides –you hold the Magic of the Land. That’s no small thing.”

Draco took some deep breaths.

“You’re right,” he said, and stiffened his spine. “So how do we go about this?”

“Leave it to me,” said Harry. “But be ready to go to Gringotts tomorrow morning. Hermione, will you cover for us if anyone asks where we are?”

“Of course,” said Hermione. “But, Harry – you do realise that everyone will just think you’re off snogging, don’t you? I doubt that anyone will bother to ask me.” Her voice was faintly amused.

Draco sighed.

Harry just grinned.

“I’m sure they won’t,” he said. “The more fool they.” He looked at Draco. “You know, we should probably talk about what happens _after_ we destroy all of Voldemort’s horcruxes.”

“I assumed that we would hunt him down wherever he’s hiding, and put an end to him,” said Draco. It wasn’t a thought he relished, but he had no doubt that it was necessary for the good of Britain.

Harry waved an impatient hand.

“Yes, yes, but after _that_. I’m talking long-term plans.”

Draco eyed Harry.

“There’s obviously something in particular that you want to ask about, so why don’t you spit it out?”

Harry took a deep breath, and let it out.

“Fine. Magically, you’re King, but bureaucratically is another matter. Do you intend to _officially_ take up your rightful throne, either now or in the future – or shall the Ministry believe it vacant for the rest of your lifetime?”

Draco went still.

He’d thought about the question, of course he had – but he’d thought that the answer wasn’t necessary, just yet.

“I do intend to claim the throne,” he said slowly, “at least in magical Britain. Muggle Britain has developed a system of governance that I don’t understand and therefore can’t comment on, but I know enough about wizarding Britain to know that our society would benefit from the changes I could implement if I took the throne. So, yes: but _not yet_. I’m only fourteen, for Heaven’s sake – and so are you.”

Harry nodded, as though none of this came as a surprise. But Hermione was frowning.

“But what about democracy?” she asked. “What about the right of the people to govern themselves?”

“That would be fine, if the people were equally and adequately represented,” said Draco. “But the current system is deeply corrupt – the Wizengamot’s nearly all purebloods, for a start, and you wouldn’t believe how many anti-muggleborn measures my Father has gotten through, simply because of his money and influence. I mean – the fact that he’s not in Azkaban despite being very much a Death Eater ought to be a definite sign that the system is broken.”

Draco realised that his shoulders were up around his ears, and deliberately relaxed them, taking a deep breath.

“I intend to restructure the Ministry and the Wizengamot, if I get the chance – to make them fairer, more representative, and more transparent in their dealings.”

“You could do that without being King,” Hermione protested, and Draco gave a bitter laugh.

“I really couldn’t. They’d fight me all the way.”

“And they wouldn’t if you were King?” Hermione was openly doubtful.

“They _couldn’t_ ,” said Harry, who had been listening to their discussion with an oddly introspective expression. “The moment they’re appointed, everyone in the Wizengamot and the higher echelons of the Ministry is required to swear an oath of fealty to the High King of Britain, as recognised by the Magic of the Land. Because there hasn’t been one in about a millennium, most wizards consider the oath to be merely ceremonial, these days – but the instant Draco declares himself, that oath will become very, _very_ binding.”

While Hermione was thinking that over, still frowning, Draco turned to Harry.

“You didn’t ask me whether I intend to take the throne just because you were curious about the answer.”

“No, I didn’t.” Harry smiled briefly. “I asked because in order to gain an audience with the Goblin King, as I said, you’ll need to dress appropriately, as royalty – which includes bringing Excalibur, to present to the Goblin Nation as proof of your identity.”

Draco’s stomach dropped. He said, half to himself, half to Harry and Hermione:

“And anyone who sees it will wonder.”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “Word’s going to get around, I would think. But it may be the only way to get Hufflepuff’s Cup from the Goblins. It’s certainly the only way to get an audience with the Goblin King.”

Draco groaned.

“So this could force me into officially declaring myself King earlier than I’d planned.”

Harry nodded, looking sympathetic.

Draco thought it over.

In the end, despite his own wishes, it all came back to the people it was his responsibility to protect. He _needed_ to destroy Voldemort – and if that meant declaring himself King earlier than he had planned, so be it.

“We’ll plan for that when it happens,” Draco decided.

“I still think that democracy is better than a monarchy,” said Hermione.

“I think it depends on the system of democracy being used, and the monarch who’s being offered as the alternative,” said Harry thoughtfully. “In any case, Draco can set it up so that the monarchy is dissolved on the moment of his death, if he so chooses – reverting to an entirely democratic process.”

Hermione still looked skeptical, but she seemed willing to consider the idea further.

“At least we have years to figure it out,” said Draco. “Whatever choice I end up making.”

“There’s that, I suppose,” Hermione said, in agreement. “I’ll try to find some books on different forms of democracy during the holidays so that you can read them.”

“That would no doubt be useful,” said Draco. “But I have other priorities, right now. Like getting a meeting with the Goblin King so that we can destroy the second-last horcrux.”

“Good luck,” said Hermione.

“Thanks.”

“Relax, both of you,” said Harry. “I’ll make the last of the necessary arrangements, and Draco and I can go to Gringotts tomorrow to talk to the Goblin Nation, as I said earlier.”

“ _What_ arrangements?” asked Draco, with what he considered to be reasonable suspicion, knowing Harry.

But Harry only smiled mysteriously, and said, “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is written, it just needs to be reviewed before posting; so that should go up soonish.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is that chapter I promised a while back? 
> 
> Also, the final chapter is partially-written, but I've had a lot of trouble with it, so it might be a while yet before I post it. Sorry.
> 
> ETA: *sighs* Okay, I messed up - the quote from Lord of the Rings is from the movie, not the book. I got confused because I've seen the film more recently than I've read the book. So let's just gracefully slide over that and pretend I didn't mess it up, shall we?

**Chapter Fourteen**

Early the next morning, as soon as Draco was done with breakfast, Harry whisked him away to Merlin’s Tower, looking worryingly gleeful.

As soon as Draco was inside the Tower, he saw why. Spread out across the table were two sets of clothing, one at each end of the table. At the end nearest the front door of the Tower was a set of black robes, of the style designed to be worn under other clothing.

Next to the black robes were a set of battle robes made of basilisk skin, dark-green in colour, and shimmering slightly where they caught the light. A set of matching boots sat on the floor next to the table. A baldric designed to hold the sheath of a long dagger also lay on the table.

Draco’s gaze moved towards the other end of the table, where the second outfit was laid out. Again, there was a pair of basilisk skin boots, a set of basilisk-skin battle robes, and an under-robe – but this under-robe was a deep, imperial purple in colour. Excalibur lay on the table in its scabbard, which had been attached to a purple baldric; replacing the plain, rather worn baldric it had previously been attached to.

Sitting in the middle of the table was a familiar golden circlet, and a golden livery collar. The latter resembled a heavy golden chain with a golden badge hanging from it. The badge was decorated with an image of a Welsh dragon resting beneath a crown: the Pendragon coat of arms.

 _Arthur’s_ coat of arms.

Draco stared at the circlet and livery collar for a long moment, until Harry said, “Well, are you going to put them on?” But his voice was gentle, and Draco knew that he recognised the significance of the moment.

Draco found his voice.

“Have you had these all this time?”

“I stole them,” Harry admitted, without an ounce of shame. “You had left no clear heir, and I knew that everyone would fight over them, as the insignia of office of the rightful High King of Britain. So I took them, and I hid them away.”

“You mean you brought them here,” said Draco.

“Yes.”

Draco’s gaze finally left his familiar insignia.

“And the basilisk skin robes?”

“Oh, those I’ve had in the works for ages!” Harry’s gleeful look returned. “I harvested the basilisk skin myself, from the one I slew in second year. From the moment my memories returned I knew that you’d need appropriate battle robes sooner or later, and what better material than the skin of a basilisk? It’s even more resistant to spell damage than dragon-hide – besides, I have a fondness for dragons, and I’d rather not see any die to simply to provide us with something to wear. The same cannot be said of basilisks.”

“Holding a grudge, are you?”

Harry laughed.

“Oh, definitely.”

Draco sent one last lingering look towards his own insignia, before he began stripping off to get changed into the clothing Harry had provided. The battle robes felt a little strange to wear, for someone used to ordinary wizards’ robes: they were thicker and heavier than Draco had expected, a testament to the age of the basilisk who had provided the skin. The matching boots were rather stiff. It was a good thing that Draco had chosen to wear thick socks this morning.

It took a few minutes to put on the baldric holding Excalibur; when he was done, Draco reached for the livery collar, and put it on over his head so that his coat of arms rested against his chest. Finally, he went to reach for the circlet. But–

“Allow me, my King,” said Harry’s voice, and Draco turned to see him standing there, wearing his own battle robes. Before Draco could respond, Harry picked up the circlet, and reached up to fit it over Draco’s hair. The weight of it was both reassuring in its familiarity, and daunting – for all it symbolised.

“All hail Arthur, High King of Britain,” said Harry, in a quiet voice. His eyes were on Draco, drinking in the sight of him as though there was nothing more important in the world.

Draco took a deep breath. It was difficult to concentrate on the task before him when Harry was looking at him like that.

“Later,” said Draco, “I am so going to snog you. But now isn’t the time.”

Harry smiled, the expression oddly wry.

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “Shall I apparate us?”

Draco nodded, and Harry put a hand on his shoulder, apparating them straight out of the Tower.

They landed in Diagon Alley, just outside Gringotts, and Draco gasped at the biting cold of the air outside, even though he was warm enough in his under-robe – the result some kind of temperature control charm, probably. But the air entering his lungs was far below freezing.

Harry moved to stand just behind Draco and slightly to his right. He was waiting for Draco to take charge, Draco realised. With that realisation came the determination not to mess this up.

Draco straightened, lifted his chin, and began his ascent up the stairs of Gringotts. He couldn’t quite see Harry, but knew that the other boy was still there, guarding his back.

The goblin guards on each side of the door stiffened at the sight of Draco and Harry, but neither made any move to prevent them from entering. But the guards must have done _something_ , because as Draco and Harry entered the bank, into the main foyer where the tellers were, more goblin guards began pouring into the room. Within moments, dozens of them were guarding the doorways and the counter where the tellers worked.

The wizards and witches waiting in line by the counter turned their heads to stare, first at the guards, then at Draco and Harry. A murmur began.

Draco stopped walking once he’d reached the centre of the room, and waited. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry do the same.

The murmur of the wizards and witches in the room was agitated now, and they were shifting uncomfortably at the presence of so many armed guards. But Draco stood with his head held high, in a deliberately relaxed pose, allowing his gaze to drift over the guards with an expression of disinterest.

He left Harry to scan the room, alert and vigilant, ready to defend Draco against any threats.

Finally, the crowds of guards parted, allowing a new goblin into the room. This goblin was wearing silver armour – bespelled for strength and durability, most likely – and wore scarlet epaulettes at each shoulder to signify his rank. A sword was at his hip. His eyes went to the coat of arms on Draco’s livery collar, and widened: but otherwise he gave no sign of recognition of Draco’s royal status.

“Wizard,” said the goblin. “Why have you entered Gringotts carrying weapons?”

Draco raised his eyebrows.

“Aren’t all wizards carrying weapons? We carry wands, after all.”

The goblin bared his teeth.

“ _Bladed_ weapons, wizard.”

Draco smiled. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but memories were returning to him of many conversations not dissimilar to this one. He knew how to handle this situation.

“A wise king avoids war where he can, but faces battle where he must. Sometimes it comes from the most unexpected quarter. What kind of king would I be if I was not prepared for that?”

The goblin snorted.

“ _King?_ ” His tone was derisive.

“I can, of course, offer proof,” said Draco casually, and reached for Excalibur.

All of the guards tensed, their hands moving towards their own weapons. But the goblin standing in front of Draco didn’t so much as flinch as Draco began to draw his sword.

The hilt had barely left the scabbard before the blinding light of Excalibur was visible. A second later the stone floor beneath them began to tremble. And then–

“ _ALL HAIL ARTHUR, THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING! HAIL!_ ” The words rolled out across the room in a deafening wave.

“ _HAIL!_ ” the voices cried out, again and again, until slowly the sound faded away.

Draco ignored the shouts and gasps from the witches and wizards lined up at the front counter as he sheathed the sword, meeting the wide eyes of the goblin in front of him.

“I am Arthur Pendragon, High King of all Britain, and I seek audience with your King,” said Draco, ignoring the fact that his ears were still ringing from Excalibur’s otherworldly chorus. “Should you prove disobliging, I am sure that Merlin would be happy to locate your King himself.”

“Definitely,” said Harry, drawing the attention of the lead goblin for a moment, before his eyes returned to Draco.

Draco’s smile was as wintry as the weather outside.

There was a heavy pause.

“I shall notify the King of your request for audience,” said the goblin finally.

Draco inclined his head.

“I trust your word.”

That got a sour look from the goblin, and Draco could practically _feel_ Harry’s amusement from here – even though he knew that in a situation like this, Harry would be professional enough not to let it show on his face.

“Follow me, and I shall show you to an audience chamber,” said the goblin.

“I didn’t catch your name,” said Draco. There was another pause.

“I am Ironclaw,” said the goblin, and stomped off towards one of the doorways. Draco followed, with Harry right behind him. Five guards stepped into line behind Harry and followed at a discreet distance.

They walked through the tall, labyrinthine corridors until Ironclaw said, “In here, if it pleases your Majesty.” His voice was terse.

Harry moved towards the open doorway first, peering inside while keeping an eye on Ironclaw and the guards. After a moment he nodded at Draco.

“It’s safe, my liege.”

Draco nodded back at him in acknowledgement, and moved into the room.

It was quite a fancy room, with white marble everywhere, and golden furnishings. Even the table at the centre of the room was marble. It was surrounded by hardwood chairs carved with interesting designs. Before Draco could say anything, Harry pulled out one of the chairs and turned it to face the door, and gestured for Draco to sit down.

“We could be here a while,” said Harry. “Like a wizard, the Goblin King is never early, and he is never late: he arrives precisely when he means to.”

Harry sounded as though he was quoting something.

“What’s that from?” asked Draco, frowning. “Also, that’s complete rubbish; plenty of wizards are early or late to things.”

Harry smiled wide.

“It’s from a non-magical book with fictional wizards in it. A rather famous one. For sheer imagination and attention to detail, the author deserves his fame. It is, quite literally, _epic_.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They fell into silence, after that. Draco sat in his chair, while Harry stood next to him, alert for any potential threats.

It was extremely boring.

Finally, however, the guards at the door jerked to attention, and a moment later a man walked in.

One look at him, and his entire appearance screamed _fae_ – his clothing was grandiose, his hair even more so; and there was a subtle sparkle about his person, as though he had doused himself in glitter, although that was more likely to be the effect of magic. He fit in perfectly amid the ostentatious grandeur of Gringotts’ halls.

Draco stood.

The man’s eyes skipped over Draco entirely, and went straight to Harry with a look of displeased recognition.

“Oh, it’s _you_ ,” said the Goblin King. “Back again, are you?”

“Obviously,” said Harry.

“So this must be your King.” The Goblin King peered down at Draco from his superior height. “Scrawny little thing, isn’t he? But then, appearances can be deceiving – as they say.”

Draco narrowed his eyes.

He knew that he had just been insulted, and rather blatantly, too; that last bit had been tacked on as a pretence that the _scrawny little thing_ comment hadn’t been meant as an insult. But he had definitely been insulted, and they – Draco, Harry, and the Goblin King – all knew it.

The thing was, Draco had come here for a reason, and he couldn’t simply storm out until that reason had been seen to. And the Goblin King knew that, too.

“Even the tallest tree in the forest must begin as a sapling,” said Harry, his tone placid, but the look in his eyes said that he had very much registered the insult to Draco.

“And sometimes the most precious jewel appears the most unremarkable at a glance. Only the discerning eye may see otherwise,” said Draco.

The Goblin King scowled. Clearly, he’d caught the implication that he was one of those without a discerning eye.

“Why have you come here?” he asked – but this time, he was speaking to Draco himself, not to Harry.

Draco counted that as a win.

“There is an object within one of Gringotts’ vaults,” said Draco, going for bluntness since the Goblin King had abandoned any pretence at small-talk. “It contains a fragment of the soul of the self-styled Lord Voldemort. I would like it brought to me.”

“A fragment of soul?” The Goblin King made a tutting sound. “The foolishness of wizards never ceases to astound me. Only a wizard, upon discovering the existence of his immortal soul, would decide that the best thing to do would be to ensure its destruction through its division.”

The Goblin King leaned against the doorway, and produced a crystal ball from somewhere, raising one languorous hand to gaze into the crystal.

“Ah, the Lestrange vault. I see the object you mean. A golden cup of great antiquity, yes?”

“Yes,” said Draco. “As I’m sure you are aware, as the High King of Britain, I have the right to override the conditions of the treaty between the British wizards and the Goblin Nation.”

The Goblin King gestured, and two of the guards sprang forward to drag over a chair to where the Goblin King stood. The Goblin King sat in it, and assumed a nonchalant pose - but a sharp pair of eyes rested on Draco.

“Continue,” said the Goblin King.

“However in this case, it’s unnecessary for me to do so,” said Draco, because he’d been thinking about this non-stop since yesterday. He’d even looked up some of the oldest law books in the school library, just to make sure. “The Lestranges are convicted Death Eaters. The vassal mark they bear declares Voldemort their liege lord. Under British magical law, that’s treason, and I can demand all of their vaults as recompense.”

“You do understand that most of _wizarding_ Britain has forgotten that such laws exist?” asked the Goblin King, lounging in his seat.

Draco only looked back at him.

“They more fool they,” he said, echoing Harry’s words from the previous day. There was a long moment of silence.

Then the Goblin King slowly smiled.

“I understand what Merlin sees in you,” he said, and leaned forward in his chair, abandoning his nonchalant pose. “But you cannot think that there will not be repercussions for my people, should they accede to your request and bring you the cup. Whether or not it is legal to do so, the wizards will hardly be pleased to know that we have raided a private vault.”

The Goblin King smiled like a knife. Draco braced himself.

“However, if you were to bring the Ministry of Magic under your direct control, why, then any prospect of conflict between my people and the Ministry disappears.” The Goblin King spread his hands, still smiling.

Draco didn’t dare glance at Harry. He’d been planning to do exactly what the Goblin King had just suggested – but not until _after_ he had graduated from Hogwarts. He didn’t _want_ to seize power, yet.

Still, he could see the Goblin King’s point.

“If I don’t, it could lead to another war between wizards and goblins, couldn’t it?”

“Not only _could_ it, but it _would_ ,” said the Goblin King. “I care little for the affairs of most mortals. To give you what you seek means nothing to me. However, I do care for the wellbeing of my people, and to give you that trinket of Tom Riddle’s would mean the death or injury of many.” The Goblin King produced the crystal ball again, and rolled it across his palm. “So _choose_ , little mortal King. Shall you be King in action, or by right of magic alone?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is up, and there will be a short epilogue. But this is just about done!
> 
> ~~Please forgive my faltering attempts at Latin in this chapter...~~
> 
> ETA: Many thanks to the person who signed themselves as 'Friendly Neighbourhood Latinist' and to Seika for advice on the Latin! Your assistance is much appreciated!

**Chapter Fifteen**

Draco closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, they were filled with determination.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and saw the Goblin King smile in triumph, his eyes glittering.“But only if the Goblin Nation acknowledges my right to take the Hufflepuff Cup.”

“Of course, of course,” said the Goblin King, back to apparent nonchalance once more – only the triumphant look in his eyes giving lie to the leisurely attitude he was presenting. “I will have Ironclaw take you to the Lestrange Vault as soon as we have finished our little… discussion.”

There was a flash of teeth disguised as a smile.

“The Cup is cursed, you see, and I would rather not expose my goblins to it. But of course, I am certain that the High King of all Britain and his Court Wizard are more than equipped to handle such a thing.” There was a hint of mockery in the Goblin King’s voice.

“Of course,” said Draco, refusing to show any trace of doubt.

The Goblin King eyed him for a moment, before looking towards Harry.

“An interesting path you have chosen to take, young cambion,” he said, and Draco saw Harry stiffen. To anyone else it would not have been obvious, but Draco noticed – and so, apparently, did the Goblin King, because his smile widened in amusement. “We shall see where it takes you.”

“Noted,” said Harry, his voice tight. For once, his usual unflappable attitude seemed to be absent.

The Goblin King stood, and so Draco stood as well.

“Arthur, King of the Britons,” said the Goblin King, in a musing tone. “I shall watch your career unfold with great interest.”

There was a quicksilver smile, there and gone again, and the Goblin King turned back towards the open door.

“Ironclaw!” he called, his tone of voice haughty and imperious once more. Ironclaw appeared in the doorway, and bowed deeply.

“Sire.”

“Take his Majesty and his pet wizard to the Lestrange Vault,” said the Goblin King. “We shall discover whether they are equipped to deal with the object which they seek. If they are, they may do with it as they choose.”

“As you say, your Majesty.”

The Goblin King promptly disappeared in a cloud of smoke. There was definite sparkle involved.

Draco glanced sideways at Harry, who was glaring at the smoke.

“Follow me,” said Ironclaw, turning away from the doorway, and so Draco and Harry did.

“ _Pet wizard_ ,” Draco heard Harry mutter under his breath as they traversed the tall, impressive corridors of Gringotts. “ _Hah_. That coming from someone who looks exactly like David Bowie in a fantasy-film costume.”

Draco had no idea who David Bowie was or what he looked like, but he gathered that the Goblin King’s parting form of address had offended Harry.

Ironclaw climbed into one of the carts that served as transportation within Gringotts. Draco and Harry joined him, and a moment later the cart began to roll forward, increasing until it was travelling at the usual breakneck speed that the goblins seemed to favour.

The cart travelled deep into the depths of Gringotts, but eventually it slowed to a stop outside a vault door.

“This is the Lestrange Vault,” said Ironclaw. He got out of the cart, Draco and Harry following, and pressed his hand to the door of the vault. It melted away, revealing an enormous room full of priceless treasures.

“You may take what you seek,” said Ironclaw.

“Right,” said Harry. “And you do intent to wait for us, yes? Because otherwise I’d have to apparate us out past your wards, and who knows what damage that could do.” Harry’s voice was pleasant again, but there was no mistaking the threat.

Ironclaw looked sour, but said, “I will wait for you both, wizard.”

“That’s all I ask,” said Harry. He turned to Draco, looking suddenly serious. “The contents of the entire vault are likely to be cursed, not only the cup – so we move carefully, and don’t touch anything. And you’d best have Excalibur at the ready, just in case things happen quickly.” he added.

Draco nodded, and drew the sword from its sheath. Amid the usual otherwordly shouts of _hail!_ he saw Ironclaw wince at the radiance surrounding him. Apparently Excalibur was too bright even for goblin eyes to look upon.

But Harry was already striding into the vault, and so Draco followed him in.

They moved slowly and carefully through the vault. Coins of various denominations were piled in careful stacks to the ceiling; valuable objects rested on every surface, glittering.

“A bit gaudy, all this,” Harry muttered under his breath. Draco ignored him, concentrating on making his way through the vault without inadvertently touching anything.

The minutes passed with agonising slowness. Finally, however, Harry stopped, and looked up.

“There,” he said, and Draco followed Harry’s gaze. There, near the ceiling, sat a small golden cup with a handle on each side, decorated with a badger.

“How do we get to it?” Draco asked.

“Good question,” said Harry absently, his eyes on Hufflepuff’s Cup. “How do you feel about being levitated?”

“You’re not serious.”

“Very,” said Harry. “They’ve used _Flagrante_ and _Gemino_ charms on everything – touch a single object, and first it’ll burn you, then it’ll start replicating exponentially. If that happens, we’ll have no chance of reaching the real cup.”

“But with your abilities, you’ll be able to tell which cup is real and which cups are conjurations,” Draco tried to argue.

“Yes – but that won’t help me much, when the conjured ones are getting in the way, and each one of them molten-hot.” Harry looked at him expectantly. “So. Levitation is our best option.”

Draco sighed.

“Fine. Levitate me.”

Harry grinned, and flicked his wand. Slowly, Draco began rising into the air, and only stopped when his head bumped the ceiling. He shifted his grip on Excalibur.

“Swing hard, and fast,” said Harry. “We don’t want to give it any warning.”

Draco raised the sword from where he was dangling in mid-air, and swung it down as hard as he could despite the awkward angle.

Hufflepuff’s Cup split in two from the force of the blow, and the by-now familiar sound of a dying horcrux issued from it as it toppled to the ground.

Harry gently lowered Draco back towards the floor. Draco didn’t say so, but it was a relief to feel his feet on solid ground again. He looked back at Harry, who nudged one half of the broken cup with the toe of his boot. Nothing happened.

“Excalibur neutralised all the spells on it, not just the horcrux,” said Harry, seeing Draco’s expression. “Nice work, Draco.” He bent and picked up the broken pieces of Hufflepuff’s Cup.

When they exited from the Lestrange Vault, Harry was tucking the cup away into pockets that should have been far too small to hold the pieces, but somehow weren’t. Draco didn’t sheathe his sword until the heavy vault door melted back into place, just about as impenetrable as anything on this Earth.

Ironclaw, who had shielding his eyes with one hand to protect them from Excalibur’s glow as Draco had exited the vault, let his hand drop, and scowled at them both.

“You are unharmed.” He sounded disappointed.

“They call me Merlin the Magnificent for a reason,” said Harry, all chipper again. Apparently he’d gotten over the offence that the Goblin King had caused, now that they’d eliminated yet another horcrux.

Draco only rolled his eyes – more fondly than he meant to – and said to Ironclaw, “Take us back to the surface, if you please. Our business here is finished.”

“As you wish,” said Ironclaw, and they all piled into the cat again for another wild ride through the tunnels and massive caverns under the main Gringotts building.

When they emerged into the main foyer of the bank, it was suspiciously empty. Sure enough, the moment that they walked through the front doors of the bank and reached the stairs outside, Draco saw why.

A crowd had gathered, held back by the line of Gringotts guards standing at the bottom of the steps which led up to the bank. As Harry and Draco began to descend, Draco clad in Arthur Pendragon’s fabled insignia of office, a sudden hush fell, all eyes trained on them. Then the crowd began to murmur, a murmur which grew to a roar of shouted questions and comments.

Harry only smiled at them all, and Draco could tell the moment they spotted the famous scar on his forehead and realised that he was _Harry Potter_. The noise doubled in volume as Harry took Draco’s arm, gave a jaunty little wave to the crowd, and apparated them both away. Draco’s last glimpse was of people leaning past the goblin guards to try and get a better look at him and Harry.

Then they were standing in Chantry Street, just outside the Tower.

“We’re going to have to move quickly,” said Harry, his expression intent. “The news that you’re, well, _you_ will be all over Britain within a day or two. Which means we need to destroy what’s left of Tom as soon as possible.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” said Draco, his expression grim. “Do you know where we can find him?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been getting dreams about him,” said Harry, very dryly. “He’s been hiding out in the manor that belonged to his father and grandfather. Whom he murdered fifty years ago, incidentally.”

Draco didn’t ask how Harry knew that. He didn’t want to know.

“Prophetic dreams, you mean?” he asked instead.

“I wish. No, I’ve been getting dreams because of our… _connection_ ,”Harry said, glancing up and down the street as though he didn’t want to speak the word _horcrux_ where anyone else could hear them. “Come on – let’s talk about this inside, where no one can overhear.”

Draco willingly followed him into the Tower, but as soon as they were inside, he said, “You said that you can remove it. The horcrux in your forehead.”

Harry grimaced. Draco noted with alarm that he was looking rather pale.

“I did, yes.”

The way that Harry said those words set off warning bells for Draco.

“Harry…” said Draco slowly, “exactly _how_ do you intend to remove the horcrux in your forehead?”

“About that.”

“ _Harry_.”

“I can do it, no problem,” said Harry, waving his hands to try and dispel the sudden, frantic worry that Draco knew must be showing in his expression, “it’s just, that, well… I’m going to need help.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“So I’m going to go out to Hampstead Heath, where there’s a border between realms, and summon my father.”

It took Draco a moment to fully comprehend what Harry had just said.

“ _You’re going to summon –_ Harry!”

Draco grabbed the front of Harry’s robes, and yanked him forward until they were eye-to-eye. Harry went with the movement with a small, startled _oof_ , and then went still as Draco glared into those mesmerising green eyes.

“ _Harry_ ,” said Draco again, unable to articulate the desperate, breath-stealing terror inside him at the thought of Harry summoning and facing down a bona-fide _Demon Lord_. “You _can’t_ –” He broke off, unable to find the words.

But Harry seemed to read all of Draco’s unexpressed feelings in his face, because his expression softened.

“I have to,” Harry told Draco, his voice as gentle as Draco had ever heard it, in this life or the previous one. “It’s the only way to destroy Tom for good. He’ll be a blight on this country forever if I don’t. I have a _duty_ , my King.”

 _And so do you_ , Harry didn’t say, but the words hung in the air all the same. Draco took a deep breath, and let it out.

Because if to summon a Demon Lord to destroy the last horcrux was Harry’s duty, then Draco’s own was to not stand in Harry’s way, because Harry’s planned course of action was vital for the wellbeing of all of Britain. And much as Draco despised his own inability to do anything other than his duty as monarch, sometimes… that sense of duty was still there, always, weighing on him.

And he knew that even if it killed him – or worse, if it killed _Harry_ – he wasn’t going to stop Harry from doing what he needed to do.

“There are times,” said Draco, “where I really hate your habit of _always being right_.”

Harry grinned at that, although it was a pale shadow of his usual grin. Draco pulled him into a kiss, which Harry returned just as fiercely.

“You can’t come with me,” Harry said, when they finally parted. “I have to do this alone.”

Draco had expected Harry to say that. He even saw the sense in it, despite how much he hated the idea.

“I know,” he said to Harry. “He’d use me as leverage, otherwise, wouldn’t he?”

Harry nodded, and his expression twisted.

“He would. I understand how demons think, you see,” he said, and behind the words was an emotion that seemed awfully like self-dislike.

Draco glared at him.

“You are much more than your demonic heritage, _Merlin_.” He saw Harry jump slightly at the use of his original name. “You may be vengeful at times, and fiendishly clever – but you’re also capable of great kindness, and you’ve devoted your life to _protection_. Just because you understand how demons think doesn’t make you at all like them – no matter what blood runs in your veins.”

Harry stared at Draco for a beat. Then a small, crooked smile appeared.

“If I ever had any doubts that Arthur was still part of you, you just settled them,” said Harry. “Not that I did, for the record, but… that was a very _Arthur_ speech you just gave.”

Draco would have protested, but Harry was smiling, and looking as though he’d taken heart from the little speech, and so Draco let it go.

“Come back to me,” he told Harry. “That’s all I ask.”

Harry sobered.

“Believe me when I say, my King, that I will always do my best to do just that.”

Draco could only believe him.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Harry said, “Would you rather wait for me here, or at Hogwarts?”

Draco didn’t need to think.

“Here,” he said. “It’s safer.”

“Alright,” said Harry. “There’s a fold-out sofa bed upstairs, on the second floor, and a blanket – you can sleep there if you need to, if I’m away longer than expected. Just call Dobby if you need anything. I told him to respond to your call at any time.”

“Thanks,” said Draco, a lump in his throat, and then, “What on Earth is a sofa-bed?”

“Come upstairs, and I’ll show you,” said Harry, and so Draco followed him up the spiral staircase to the second floor.

There were a couple of bookcases against one wall, both overflowing with books; one bookcase appeared to be dedicated to old tomes from Harry’s first life as Merlin, while the second was filled with more modern books. The floor was covered with rugs, all of them dyed in bright colours. There was an armchair near the window, presumably to catch the light; and a large, sprawling sofa on the other side of the room.

But it was what hung on the wall above the sofa that drove the breath out of Draco’s lungs.

It was a portrait of himself, from when he was Arthur, one that he vaguely remembered having commissioned when he was first crowned. In one sense, the painting of him looked absurdly youthful – although not as youthful as he did now, at fourteen, Draco reminded himself – but stared out of the frame with an expression of gravity which was far beyond his years.

That portrait had hung in the royal audience chamber for a decade, before being replaced by one of an older, more regal-looking Arthur. The portrait of young Arthur had gone missing shortly before the final battle of Camelot. Draco had been too busy with other concerns at the time to care.

Draco stared at the painting for a long moment.

“You thieving bastard,” he said to Harry, although his voice came out rather fond, instead of annoyed. “You stole that portrait from the castle.”

Harry only shrugged.

“It was sitting in a storeroom, almost forgotten,” he said. “And the way things were going… it didn’t look as though anyone but me would care what happened to it, soon enough.” He looked at the painting. “And I always liked this portrait of you best. The others were all of the High King of Britain, but this one… this one was just Arthur, the boy who pulled the sword from the stone.”

“You are ridiculous,” Draco told him.

“Ridiculously smitten,” said Harry, smiling. After a moment the smile faded. “I should show you how the sofa-bed works, and then I need to go.”

Draco took a deep breath, but only said, “Alright.”

It didn’t take long for Harry to show him how to fold out the sofa bed. Once he was done, he looked at Draco.

“Farewell,” said Harry, his expression solemn. “I should be back by tonight – although time can get a bit wibbly, summoning something as powerful as a Demon Lord, so I’m not sure exactly how long it will take. But if I’m not back by then…”

“Shut up,” Draco told him. “You’re going to come back.”

And that was that. Harry kissed him goodbye, and then apparated away. Draco was left alone in the Tower, waiting for a love who might not return.

He sat heavily on the sofa-bed, and told himself that he was far too old and too regal to cry, and that it wouldn’t help anything.

Instead, he went downstairs to where his school robes were folded over the table, and changed out of his royal outfit. He could sleep in his school robes, if he was still here, waiting, once night fell – although he didn’t think he was likely to get much sleep, under the circumstances.

That done, Draco came back upstairs and began looking through the bookcase where the modern books were stored. Magical and muggle books were mingled together; staid books with dark, simple dust-covers sitting alongside books with bright and colourful covers made of shiny cardboard.

Draco picked a book at random. It proved to be a reasonably large hardback book with an illustrated dust-cover depicting a young woman wearing a crown and a gingham apron, leaning on a table, apparently in conversation with the dragon sitting next to her. An ice-cream sundae sat just under the dragon’s snout.

Well. Draco didn’t have anything better to do. And reading was better than simply waiting, wondering if Harry would return. Draco opened the book, sat down on the unfolded sofa-bed, and began to read.

Draco wasn’t aware of falling asleep. The next thing he knew, he was jolted awake by the loud _crack_ of apparition. He opened his eyes and sat up, automatically reaching for his wand – an action he aborted when he saw Harry, still wearing his clothing from this morning, standing and swaying on the rug in the middle of the room.

His scar had split open, and was bleeding profusely.

“Harry?” Draco said, in some alarm.

“It’s done,” said Harry, looking like he was about to pass out. This impression was confirmed when, seconds later, he began to crumple to the floor.

Draco tried to catch him, but Harry was heavier than he looked. All Draco managed to do was slow Harry’s descent, so that he hit the carpet with a gentle _thump_ instead of cracking his skull on the floor.

Draco shook his shoulder very gently, but Harry was well and truly out.

Feeling torn between worry over his condition, and relief that Harry had come back at all, Draco grabbed his wand and levitated Harry to the sofa-bed. He checked Harry’s vitals, but he seemed to be fine, aside from being unconscious and bleeding from his scar.

Draco sat in the armchair, and waited for Harry to awaken.

Harry didn’t wake until the sun was just straggling through the windows, suggesting that it was barely dawn. He gave a loud groan, and his eyes opened blearily. Draco was at his side in an instant.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Harry laughed, but the laugh turned into a groan as he sat up.

“Just peachy,” he said, and then, “It turns out that when you’ve been a living host for a horcrux since infancy, removing it can be a trifle… difficult.”

“What do you mean, _difficult?_ ”

“Tom’s soul fragment had sort of… latched onto my own soul,” Harry explained, and Draco felt himself blanch in horror. “If I’d been anyone other than me, I probably would have had to die to destroy it. But since I’m part-demon, my soul is a little more… resilient, I suppose.” His laugh wasn’t amused at all. “Who knew that would come in handy?”

“But it’s done?” Draco jumped on Harry’s words. “The horcrux is gone?”

“Gone forever,” said Harry, in cheerful, if tired agreement. “And the soul fragment itself was considered sufficient payment for its removal.”

Draco wasn’t going to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said instead. “Your scar’s been bleeding, by the way.”

Harry made a face, and cast a first healing spell, then a cleaning spell. The bloody lightning-bolt-shaped gash on his forehead became a neat white line.

“You know, I could use some food,” said Harry. “Dobby!”

A minute passed. Then Dobby popped into existence.

“Merlin sir?” he asked, yawning and rubbing his eyes. It was clear he’d been asleep.

Harry grimaced.

“Sorry, Dobby. I didn’t stop to think that you’d be sleeping right now. But could you get some food for Draco and I? I didn’t get a chance to eat after breakfast yesterday, and…”

Dobby cut him off with an exclamation of dismay before he could finish, and said, “Dobby is getting Merlin Sir and his King some breakfast immediately!” He popped away again before Harry could say anything more.

“Right,” said Harry, standing up. “Let’s go downstairs and plan what to do next.”

“One moment,” said Draco, and pulled him into a kiss.

“That was for coming back,” Draco said in explanation once they’d pulled apart, because Harry was smiling quizzically.

Harry only smiled brilliantly at him.

* * *

It was close to eight in the morning when Harry apparated them both to the place in Little Hangleton where they’d disembarked from the Knight Bus, while they were searching for the Peverell ring horcrux. This time, however, instead of looking for the Gaunt Shack, Draco and Harry went into the village proper.

Despite the early hour, people were already out and about. The villagers stared as Harry and Draco went past, dressed as they were in robes, and Draco in Arthur’s insignia of office. But no one tried to stop them as they made their way through the village, and headed up towards the manor on the top of the hill.

The garden was overgrown, and the manor itself was in disrepair, with boarded-over windows and missing roof tiles. Ivy was growing over the old stonework, forcing its way into every nook and cranny.

“This is where he’s been hiding,” said Harry, in a low voice. He looked up at the house as though seeing something far beyond it. “This was his father’s home. Thomas Riddle, the heir to the local estate. The father of the greatest Dark Lord of a generation – a Dark Lord whose publicised cause was traditionalism and blood purity – was himself non-magical.”

That was somewhat fascinating, Draco had to admit, but–

“Can we have the history lesson another time?” he whispered. Harry slanted him a grin, but began making his way up to the house.

Draco walked behind Harry, his hand on the hilt of Excalibur. He was ready to draw the sword if necessary – but only at the opportune moment. The blinding radiance of Excalibur would alert the enemy to his presence, if he drew it too soon.

A quick _alohomora_ and the heavy front door swung open, creaking on its hinges. Harry stepped inside the house, his gaze already scanning their surroundings as Draco followed him inside.

The house was just as derelict inside as it appeared to be from the outside. But there was the faint sound of voices, coming from further inside the house.

Draco looked at Harry, who glanced back at him; clearly he’d heard the voices too. Together, with Harry leading the way so that he was ready to protect his king if necessary, they made their way down the dark hallway.

There was an open doorway near the end of the hallway, and through raised eyebrows and silent gestures, Draco and Harry worked out a brief plan of attack. Then, and only then, did they step through the open door.

The first thing Draco saw was a man with a rat-like appearance. The second thing he saw made him swear aloud, even though he didn’t mean to.

But there was a small, bone-white figure hunched in the armchair nearest the fireplace, warmed by the dying embers of the fire. Its eyes were scarlet in colour, with slitted pupils, and its face noseless and inhuman. Draco had seen a homunculus before, but he’d much rather have never seen another one.

At the sound of Draco’s involuntary exclamation, the rat-like man spun, going for his wand, and the homunculus – _Voldemort_ – turned its head. Harry already had his wand out, moving to stun and bind the rat-like man; but that left the figure in the armchair.

Draco saw the Dark Lord move a claw-like hand to grasp the wand by his side, and level it at Harry’s unprotected back. Even as Harry began to turn, Draco was moving to intercept.

He drew Excalibur, and the room was lit with blinding light; but although those scarlet eyes widened, Voldemort didn’t falter.

“ _Avada kedavra!_ ”

Draco threw up his sword – and watched, in a kind of grim, horrified fascination as the killing curse hit Excalibur’s blade, and proceeded to ricochet back on its caster.

In the wash of green light Draco saw Voldemort slump, and his outstretched arm fall; his wand fell to the carpeted floor with nary a sound, and lay there.

A heartbeat passed, and then another; but the Dark Lord remained still, and very, very dead, and the rat-like man was still bound and unconscious.

“Well,” said Harry, breaking the silence, “that didn’t go how I expected it to.”

“Harry? Shut up _.”_ Draco just breathed for a moment, before walking forward to prod the homunculus with the tip of Excalibur. The moment that the sword made contact, however, there was a sizzling sound, and then…

“ _Ugh!_ ”

Draco backed away in a hurry as the homunculus began to _melt_ , dissolving under Excalibur’s curse-breaking, dark magic-destroying power. Draco watched in disgust for a second, and then turned back to Harry.

“Who’s this?” he asked, looking down at the rat-like man.

“Oh, didn’t I mention? This particular git is _Pettigrew_.” Harry’s cheerful tone was at odds with the way he emphasised the name with a vicious kick to the man’s ribs.

Draco winced, because whether Harry remembered his parents or not, Draco knew that Harry would want revenge on the man responsible for his parents’ deaths.

“What are you going to do with him?”

Harry was silent for a moment. Then Draco saw the glint in the green eyes. That glint promised havoc.

“Harry…”

“I was thinking we could present him to the Wizengamot,” said Harry. He was smiling. “There’s a session on this morning, starting at nine o’clock, which is about, oh, ten minutes from now?”

Draco sighed.

“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?”

A smirk was Harry’s only answer.

“Fine. And I suppose that I should claim the throne while I’m there.” A thought occurred to Draco. “The old spells should have moved to the new Ministry building when it was dedicated, shouldn’t they?”

“Oh, yes,” said Harry. “All the ancient magic of the position of High King of Britain is still in place. It’s just waiting to be activated.”

“And then everyone’s oaths will become binding,” Draco noted, his expression dour. “Good luck to any politicians or Ministry officials trying to weasel their way out of their duties, after that.”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “So. Shall we go?”

Draco thought about it.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that we should make a… _dramatic_ _entrance_ , don’t you?”

Harry grinned, and said, “I like the way you think, Draco.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, in the Ministry of Magic, the Wizengamot session was five minutes into the first matter on the agenda when the chamber doors flew open with a _bang_.

“What…” Cornelius Fudge began, only to fall silent as Harry Potter strode inside the Wizengamot chamber, followed by Draco, who was wearing a livery collar decorated with what even the most mediocre student of magical history would recognise as the _Pendragon coat of arms_.

People began to murmur, and the murmur almost immediately rose to a roar.

“What is the meaning of this?” Fudge began to bluster, when Dumbledore’s voice cut through the hubbub.

“Harry–”

“That’s Mr Potter to you, Professor,” said Harry. His smile was positively arctic. “Or, alternatively, _Merlin_.”

Amelia Bones cleared her throat.

“What is going on here?”

Harry twirled his wand between his fingers – casting a silent amplifying charm on himself, apparently, because when he spoke his voice was loud enough to drown out all other sound.

“ _Hic Arthurus stat, quondam rex iterumque rex!_ ”

For a moment, there was silence after Harry’s deafening announcement.

“For goodness _sake–!_ ” Fudge began, looking exasperated beyond words.

He was interrupted when the building began to shake. Draco drew Excalibur, and the witches and wizards in the room flinched back and covered their eyes at its shining glory.

“ _HAIL!_ ” a chorus of unearthly voices called out, even as the emblem of the Wizengamot, emblazoned on the floor and doors of the chamber, began to shimmer and change. “ _ALL HAIL ARTHUR, THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING! HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!”_

In the same moment, every member of the Wizengamot and the Ministry itself cried out in shock and alarm, as their ceremonial oaths took hold and bound them to the High King of Britain.

After a minute or so, the _hails_ began to fade, the eerie, otherworldly chorus still shouting the word over one another as their voices grew fainter and fainter.

Draco sheathed his sword again, and he could have heard a pin drop in the silence.

The emblem of the Wizengamot which had previously decorated the floor and doors of the chamber had disappeared, replaced by the Pendragon coat of arms.

Draco’s eyes met Harry’s, and the Court Wizard to the British Crown, as recognised by the Magic of the Land, smiled at his King.

“My liege,” said Harry, with a deferential bow. The members of the Wizengamot were still sitting and gaping at the two of them, and only a few of the assembled people seemed to have actually caught up with what was happening. “What is your first order of business?”

Draco looked out at all the staring faces. At the photographer for the _Daily Prophet_ , who was taking photograph after photograph. At Cornelius Fudge, who looked as though he was about to burst the vein throbbing near his temple. At Albus Dumbledore, who was staring at him and Harry in unabashed shock and wonder.

“Well, since you asked, _Merlin_ …”

Draco saw Harry smile with a fierce joy that, with the Magic of the Land singing to him at the back of his mind, Draco couldn’t help but return.

“Our first order of business is the trial of Peter Pettigrew, on the following charges: for the aiding and abetting of the self-styled Lord Voldemort; for two counts of accessory to murder; for twelve counts of murder itself; and for the framing of one Sirius Black for all of the above…”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my most commented-on fic ever, so I'd like to thank all of you who read and commented on it, or who left kudos. It's been a fun ride. I hope you all enjoyed it.
> 
> There may be one or two short fics set in this universe still to come, so bookmark or follow the series to get a notification when I post them.

**Epilogue**

A few months later, and Harry and Draco walked into Hogwarts’ Great Hall. A hush fell as the crowd of students spotted them. Then, a moment later, the normal chatter resumed, but louder and more excited than before. Everyone, even the teachers, was staring at the two of them.

Draco had gotten rather used to this. He’d been in power for some time now, governing magical Britain and meeting with international heads of state. _Everyone_ had wanted to meet the mythical King Arthur Pendragon… not to mention his Court Wizard, Merlin the Magnificent himself.

Of course, they sometimes re-thought that idea once they’d actually met the charming, infuriating wizard – because Harry might be on the side of good, but that didn’t mean that he was always _nice_.

They were here at Hogwarts because today was the day of the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, which Harry was, technically, still a participant in. ‘Alastor Moody’ had been exposed as a dangerous imposter a couple of months earlier when he’d tried to kill Harry, and had himself been killed in the process.

Barty Crouch Jr. he’d been a Death Eater, a loyal one, and the whole sorry story had come out after his death. As a result, Barty Crouch Sr. had been tried and sentenced for illegally smuggling his son out of Azkaban, and using an Unforgiveable on him for years.

While everyone now believed that it was Barty Crouch Jr. who had entered Harry’s name into the Tournament, it was still a binding contract – and while Harry had said privately to Draco and Hermione that he could probably break it, to do so was almost undoubtedly to destroy a precious magical artefact and cause an international scandal. So here he was, ready to compete in the Second Task.

Draco had continued attending classes at Hogwarts as best he could, in-between acting as magical Britain’s head of state – because while _Harry_ had been a wizard once before, and had learned nearly all there was to know about magic, _Draco_ had been non-magical the last time around. There was still a great deal for him to learn.

So Draco delegated as much as he could, and put Harry in charge whenever he was busy learning things at Hogwarts, and tried not to let the sheer amount of paperwork that his kingdom generated kill him.

They were here to join the teachers and the various officials here on Triwizard Tournament business for breakfast at the head table, before the Second Task would begin. Everyone who could wrangle a ticket had done so, hoping to see Harry showing off his skills as history’s most famous wizard. The crowds for this task were going to be _huge_.

He and Harry had just joined the head table when there was a loud popping sound, and Harry’s head shot around to stare at the Slytherin table, his mouth open in surprise.

“ _Well_ ,” Harry said, looking delighted.

Draco craned his head to follow Harry’s gaze, but couldn’t work out what Harry was looking at.

“What?”

“That popping noise, Draco, was the sound of one of your attackers turning back into a human being.”

It took Draco a moment to remember what Harry was talking about.

“What, one of the ones you turned into purple weasels?”

“I beg your pardon?” said Professor McGonagall. Her lips thinned. “Am I to understand that you were responsible for the… _condition_ of those students?”

“Oh my,” said Professor Slughorn, Professor Snape’s successor as Potions Professor.

Harry smiled lazily, only the dangerous glint in his eyes indicating how angry he still was about the inciting incident.

“Believe me, Professor, considering that they attacked my King, they’re lucky that the transfiguration wasn’t permanent. All they have to do to turn back is…”

“ _Potter!_ ” a voice shouted, and Draco looked around to see an older Slytherin girl storming over to the head table. Josephine Berkeley, Draco thought her name was. He recognised her as one of his attackers.

“ _I spent_ _months_ _as a_ _purple weasel!_ I hate you!” Berkeley looked furious, but delighted that she was able to express her fury in actual words.

“Join the queue,” said Harry, grinning, and entirely unbothered by her professions of hatred.

Berkeley tossed her hair over one shoulder, glared, and stalked off back to the Slytherin table.

“As I was saying, all they have to do is feel appropriate remorse for their actions,” Harry said, after a moment or two, “and they’ll stop being purple weasels. Of course, that assumes that any of the remaining weasels – sorry, attackers – are actually capable of remorse.” His smile was sharp.

Professor McGonagall looked disapproving. But Professor Flitwick asked, “How did you prevent us from reversing the transfiguration?”

He sounded fascinated.

Harry smirked.

“Well, I am half-demon,” he said casually. “That gives me magical powers beyond those of ordinary wizards.”

Professor Sinistra dropped her spoon. Harry glanced at her.

“You’re _half-demon?_ ” Professor Sinistra squeaked.

Harry raised a supercilious eyebrow, and looked at the rest of the table, who appeared varying degrees of shocked – except for Flitwick, who appeared to be taking the news with equanimity. Possibly he’d already known; he was part-goblin, after all, and the goblins hadn’t forgotten Merlin at all.

After a moment Harry responded.

“Clearly the wizarding world has forgotten a thing or two, over the centuries. Or perhaps it simply chose not to remember, considering its treatment of anyone who isn’t of _pure blood_. Heaven forbid that Britain’s most famous wizard be of _mixed heritage_ , after all.”

Harry’s tone was perfectly pleasant, but several people winced at his words, sensing the underlying displeasure.

“But – a demon!” said Professor Sinistra, looking pale.

“He’s as human as you are, just with a little something extra,” said Draco, because he wasn’t about to let her attitude slide by. “And even if he wasn’t, it _shouldn’t matter_. He’s devoted his life to protecting Britain and its peoples, no matter who they are, and I won’t have you foisting your ignorant, baseless prejudices on him – so _shut up!_ ”

Professor Sinistra looked stunned, especially when Flitwick said, “Hear, hear!”

Draco glanced at Harry, who was smiling at him. Draco felt himself turning pink from the degree of warmth in Harry’s expression.

“Shut up,” he told Harry.

“Me? Never.” Harry winked at Draco.

One of the Ministry officials cleared his throat.

“Your Majesty… my lord… the Second Task begins in forty-five minutes…”

“Right,” said Harry, pushing back his chair and standing. “I should probably start heading down to the lake, then.”

“How do you know that?” blurted out a junior official, before he could be hushed by his more senior colleague. “The champions aren’t supposed to know!”

Draco rolled his eyes, because as Court Wizard Harry had of course been privy to all the documentation involving the Tournament – it was an affair of international co-operation between Britain and the other countries involved, which put it right in Harry’s bailiwick.

But before Draco could say anything, Harry said cheerfully, “Because I know everything, obviously.”

Several people nodded sagely at that, as though they thought that _of course_ Merlin knew everything.

Harry happened to meet Draco’s eyes at that moment, and smirked at Draco’s expression of disbelief.

“Well, everything important, anyway,” Harry amended.

“You _do not_ ,” said Draco.

Harry only laughed, and went off with the waiting Ministry officials to prepare for the Second Task.

* * *

Draco found himself sitting in the best part of the stands, as down below, the Triwizard champions lined up before the judge’s table, near the edge of the lake.

The new Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation – one of Draco’s new appointees, who had worked closely with both him and Harry in the preceding months – stood on a podium, explaining what the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament was, and what the champions’ objectives were.

Draco saw Harry frown at the mention of rescuing a hostage. Technically, the _one he would miss the most_ was probably Draco himself – but as Draco had irritably explained to the Triwizard Tournament committee, it wasn’t exactly reasonable to risk the life of the ruling monarch for an inter-school tournament, no matter what safeguards they claimed to have put in place for the event.

Not to mention, they’d have to explain their reasoning in risking the life of said king to _Merlin himself_ afterwards, and did they really want to spend the rest of their days transfigured into a small animal, or possibly a large and leafy tree?

They’d seen sense, after that.

So the hostage Harry had to rescue was most likely Hermione, given how close the two of them were. Draco watched as the Head of the Department blew his whistle, signalling that the Second Task had officially begun.

Harry began to walk to the water’s edge, pulling out his wand. The other champions watched warily.

Harry glanced back up at the stands for just a moment, but it was enough for Draco to see that his smile was devilish. A second later and Harry was looking thoughtfully out at the lake, and raising his wand in preparation for a spell.

A swift flick of his wand, a muttered incantation no one was close enough to hear – and then, the waters of the lake began to _move_.

The crowd began to yell and cheer as the waters of the lake parted, leaving a clear path at their centre. Without pausing Harry began to stroll down the path, unworried by the towering walls of water on each side of him.

Draco wasn’t particularly worried; rather, he was amused, because he knew Harry well enough to know that while he was taking the easiest and quickest route to the hostages, he was also, most definitely, _showboating_.

But the crowd seemed impressed by the display, as well they might. Draco, for his part, had lots of memories of Merlin performing similar feats, so he wasn’t quite as impressed.

Still, being a wizard himself, this time around, he had a much better idea of how difficult Harry’s spell actually was, and how much power his partner needed to keep the walls of water from collapsing back onto him. It was a display both of raw power, and of considerable skill and finesse. If Harry didn’t get full marks from the judges for this, Draco would be very surprised indeed.

The crowd waited with bated breath for Harry to reappear. When he did, he had his arm around a wet and shivering Hermione, who still appeared a little disoriented by the magic that had kept her asleep and safe at the bottom of the lake.

Then again, Draco thought, getting a glimpse of her expression, perhaps she was just as impressed as the crowd was by Harry’s parting of the lake.

Speaking of the crowd, as Harry reappeared they went wild, screaming and cheering his name.

Harry helped Hermione up out of the mud and onto the shore, joining her there a moment later. He turned back to look at the lake, and swished his wand. Slowly, the waters of the lake began to slide back down, the path dividing the water growing narrower and narrower before it was swallowed up altogether, vanishing as the lake water resumed its usual position inhabiting the lake basin.

Grinning, Harry sent what looked like a drying charm in Hermione’s direction, before turning to the other champions and raising an eyebrow.

“Well? Go on,” he said, gesturing towards the lake. “You’ve only got forty-five minutes left. Better get a move on, don’t you think?”

Draco sighed, but he smiled slightly as he saw Hermione’s lips form Harry’s name in a reprimand, even if he couldn’t hear her actually say it from where he was sitting.

One by one, a little hesitantly, the champions went into the water. Harry made a show of conjuring a comfortable chair, sat in it – and then _pulled a book_ out of one copious robe pocket, and began to read in front of the astonished judges.

Draco couldn’t help it. He started to laugh.

Whatever else happened, at least his life would never be boring.

**THE END**


End file.
